Calibration of Happiness (HA 73)

House Arrest

I worked for years with somebody so drab
and dull, I wondered how her weekends went.
For most the Monday lunches she would blab
about her social life: how excellent
that picnic felt; this party was a blast.
But then we took a business trip. She stood
alone against the walls until it passed,
and raved on our return that all was good.
It blew my mind. I’d seen she had no fun,
but she recalled and called it otherwise.
And ever since, when I hear anyone
enthusing, I don’t feel the old surprise.
I cannot know how purple looks to you,
when you’re confused, or if your joy is true.

This entry was posted in Cognition, Coronaverse, Philosophy, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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