The clanking of wind chimes sounds like home to me
but to him, it sounds like noise.
One man’s trash, so they say.
I ask her when I will be happy and she
laughs the way that she does
when something is truly hysterical.
Hardy har har
rolls into the outstretched woods like a bowling ball.
I’m serious, I say again looking at her
then over her at the speckles of reflected light
shivering on the eggshell porch railings.
Happiness is a coke and onion rings!
she says to the trees. I am now in the
passenger seat of the conversation.
You can’t have it all time
but when you do — that’s happy! And she
turns to walk indoors with a lukewarm cup of coffee
The screen door clapping slowly behind her.
Non Epiphany 