Lost At Sea

MY GIRLFRIEND bought me a button.
"What's this for?" I said.
"So I can push it," she said.
It wasn't my only button, but it was the only one she went out and bought especially for me.

I don't know why I ever accepted it. I had plenty of buttons.
Some of them were in plain sight, but others were hidden, so hidden, in fact, that I never knew of their existence until they were pushed. Then I'd jump. Oh, man, did I ever jump!

You'd think I'd remember them, where they were, but I didn't. After they'd been pushed and I was all confused or lost at sea, angry or despondent without ever knowing why, they'd disappear like leprechauns and there I'd be, another lost soul.

I tried therapy, but it was no use. They were more confused than me.
I tried getting drunk and fell on my ass.
People pointed at me and laughed.
"Please Mister Henry," they'd say, choking back their tears.
"Please Mister Henry, do a dance for me."

But I was in no shape to dance for anyone, let alone myself.
All I could do was get up, brush off my clothes, and walk the hell
out of there.
I could hear them laughing at me.
"Please Mister Henry."
But I was lost at sea.


Michael Sykes
Cedarville, California