Serious smiles a lot.

At least that’s what they say,

His Mum and Pop

Trying to be proud

As all the nurses gather round

To squint into the cloud

Of little Serious on the ultrasound.

It’s likely just the way he’s bent,

The head nurse finally thunders

Into the awe and argument

Swirling through the crowd

Where someone mutters half-aloud

In all my years....

Serious never hears.

Serious spins and spins

With his dumb dolphin grin

In the best bed there is,

Where there’s no guilt and no sin,

No child more inner than this;

Nothing to will

And nothing to want,

No body you both are and haunt;

No drug of disappointment

Or feeling that there’s never now

(Or do these seep in somehow?);

No suffering the world’s idiocy

Like a saint its pains;

No traffic and no planes;

No debts, no taxes,

No phones and no faxes;

No rockslide of information

Called the internet.

Serious isn’t.  Yet.