Gandhi

If Gandhi were alive, I would like to sit with
him on our porch. swing I would invite him to smoke
a little weed, but he would politely decline.
I would resist the urge to say C'mon man,
it's not a fucking porterhouse. Instead,
I would nod and gaze out at the harvest moon.
Eventually, the tension would build and Gandhi,
in his affable robed manner,
would ask me what was wrong,
but at that moment, there was was no course
but for me to say Oh, I'm fine.
In part because Gandhi seems like a genuinely nice guy
and who'd want to unload all their problems on him?
But also because discerning the list of what's wrong in my life
is like trying to mow the lawn in the middle of a snowstorm,
it's a goddamn frustrating mess that very rarely makes much sense.
But, knowing Gandhi, he would suspect this, in his
perceptive robed manner. In return, he would
just smile at me and say he'd changed his mind,
could he please have a bit of bud? and I'd tease him
about it, and then we'd sit and stare up at the burning moon,
silent for hours.