“Sorrows which find no vent in tears will soon make other organs weep.” -Henry Maudsley
It’s utterly humiliating. Why
must I be doomed to blubber like a dunce
at anything that moves me? Never dry
or cool, I’m drowning in the genome pool.
Emotions, down with you! Get dressed, you sluts!
Behave yourselves — stay covered to the neck.
You’re killing my performance, spilling guts,
indecently parading on the deck.
Bewildered, stunned reactions (vacant eyes
and slackened jaws and shuffled shoes) are fraught
with undertones from all who patronize
with pep talk: “Get a grip. You’re overwrought.”
If weepers ruled the planet, we’d allow
a bit of slack for those who don’t know how.