The other day I bought a lamp
It was a lamp not in the modern sense, but like
the one from Aladdin
The kind children’s books say has a genie inside
But I wasn’t a kid, I didn’t intend to rub this lamp
I just wanted to see it on my desk
To remind me of a time when I would have jumped at the chance to rub a lamp like that
But intention would prove not to matter
As my finger lightly brushed against the
aged brass, out came smoke along with
the stuff of fairy tales
Inside was a genie, whom I almost expected
to sound like Robin Williams
“I can answer any question you want, but
only one. Then I must go back and you must give me to someone else,” he said.
I’d like to say that I was torn with what to ask,
That I had an outpouring of life mysteries
and questions that I desperately wanted
to be solved, but I didn’t
“What is it like to be happy?” I asked.
For I really felt I did not know
But it seemed, neither did he.