Happy Pill

When I was young we had one,
a convenient little capsule to cure
the blues.
Pop the tablet and enjoy the bliss.
Dad washed his down with a
chug of beer.
And the other with a glass of wine.
Junior could have a swig every now
and then. It was funny and mom
didn't mind.
Mrs. Wingo warned, "Don't speak of
that secret. It's not the southern way."
We were like that too.
It never happened
if we didn't talk about it.
Was it bubbling to the surface? Promptly
swallow the pellet.
Is that him passed out on the driveway?
"He's just resting." Quick, open wide!
Is that anger I detect or did someone
just hurt me? I can't tell the difference.
Then the pilule is working.
Boys don't cry, but they do need
their medicine.
A pill called denial.

--Shenandoah Lynd