Envy Song

I’m not left handed but I wish I was
so everyone could envy me my special-
ness and my cool factor and how
I play the guitar the same way Jimi Hendrix did
or that I’m so good to have spent so much time
creating my own adaptation to life in the
righty world. Right? Right! Righty-right, righty-right,
the whole world seems so righty-right that I grow tired of it
more and more often and I reach for the door knob
with my left hand once in a while just to feel better.

I’m not a happy man but I wish I was
so everyone could envy me my special-
ness and my uncoolness as a happy man
would be suddenly cool the way I worked it
with a steady smile and a glad hand playing
the breaks the way no one else does, as if I expected
them and just did the opposite of what was customary.
Happy now, Tony? No? Then, GET HAPPY!! Let me once get joyful
as a hymn in a whitebread church or a public television cartoon,
and while I’m not a happy man I can imagine myself having a moment
once in a while where I could fake it well enough
to capture that smile on my own face.

I’m not much to look at, have no distinguishing
features other than a big gut, a grey beard, and a petty gift
for making the sound of my voice stick in a head
for more than a second or two past the end of
a conversation, but if I could be the handsome God
of someone’s religion, if the real God could let them love my own special-
ness more than I can love it, I’d be so glad to be their poster boy
I’d even cut my left hand off to spite my smile.
Give me one jealous bone of my own to gnaw and I’ll find a scrap to sustain me.
Give me one of your leftovers and I’ll warm it up for you.
Give me anything that isn’t mine and I’ll make it my own.