The Strangeness of Happiness

I am remembering faces in this city
I don’t know their smiles, their names, their hunger
Just their busy-ness, their laughter, their isolation
Seems like a familiar land, a topography of smells and feelings
It’s not all bad and not all are wretched
It’s just that there is a colour to an urban rat
And my skin is feeling like the odd man
Happy, after ages and ages of not
My new rainbow feels self conscious
Like a clown’s nose amidst bankers.

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