Poetry of Issue #7        Page 27

Happy People

They christened each day after breakfast at the piano—
a group of blissful people singing and laughing.

I was on vacation in Santo Domingo with my sister,
cradling my heart at twenty-two after a failed affair.

Harboring little appetite, I was smoking Marlboro Reds,
drinking El Presidentes and losing money at Blackjack.

But the singing intrigued me, propped up low spirits.
Oh, they’re the Venezuelans said the hotel manager

as the spirited clan returned to their perch at Happy Hour.
Hard to conjure up those echoes of cheer when a nation,
a wildlife haven, land of tasty arepas and the grand Angel Falls,

today has people fleeing or waiting in twelve-hour lines for food,
bringing their own supplies to hospitals, starving for hope and joy.

  Amy B. Barone