Sylvia Plath

My children call me

Sylvia Plath

On account of my occasionally dark

View on life.

Which is completely unjust.

Maybe some days

There’s a bit of Monty Python

“I’m so happy……”

Maybe somedays there’s some

Mournful capering in Puddleglum

Style.  A rictus grin at the world.

A merry laugh

A hearty chuckle 

In the genre of Severus Snape.

But in my defence

I wake up happy

Not ecstatic

But jolly enough and ready for the day.

And then it starts

Facebook

And News 24

Why do I never learn?

There are three recurring pictures

On Facebook

Which my friends

With steel intestines

And hard core solar plexus

Keep posting

The thinnest, saddest dog in the world.

Why?

The huge blue ponds for eyes

Of the little blonde girl

Whose father murdered her.

The desperate face

Of the saddest polar bear who died after

A lifetime in a cement pit.

The sagas of corruption and evil

That stalk our mind peace.

Every day. 

I know the answer is to throw

Away the phone

In the morning

Thankfully, for the world, Sylvia Plath

Did not have Facebook. 

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