Anhedonia

Bruce doesn’t get up anymore
when his favorite song of all time
comes on.

Bruce has stopped thinking
in terms of favorites.  He feels
all of them are arbitrary, his
and those of others. 

Tomorrow
he might have a different favorite
candy, position, drink, person,
song.  That’s why he doesn’t get up.
Save a little for the next favorite thing.
Might be here any time.

While waiting, he starts to think
he’s a freak for not having a favorite song
anymore, some kind of foreigner
from where they don’t have favorites.

I tell Bruce,
not to worry, you’re just becoming
a shoulder angel.  You know what I mean —
the whisperer for the right thing.
Not a shoulder devil, I’m sure.  The shoulder
angel never plays favorites.  The shoulder devil
tempts you with the longing for the thing
you love best.  But the shoulder angel
rejects that sort of passion.

You sure, says Bruce?  Because
it feels like hell, I think.  Feels
unfeeling and I’m scared of it.

Don’t worry, I say,
you’re almost there.
You[re nearing a breakthrough.
Once you give up pleasure entirely
you’ll be right there near where God is.
God doesn’t like anything too much. 
How could he?  That would be playing
favorites with all of Creation.  God
doesn’t do that. 

You’re sure, he asks.

I’m sure, I say.  You’re almost there.

OK, says Bruce.
Which knife should I use, do you think?
I’m having trouble choosing.

It doesn’t matter, really,
I tell him
while folding my wings.
Pick one —
they’re all sharp.