The Ritual of the Cup

1 June 2013

Eventide. Three small pills and a cup
Of water are all that hold a mind
Grown unruly, and yet knowing
My soul sinks inevitably down
Into what my wife would call a one.
The dark cloud will come to stay
For a season. It will stay
Despite the ritual of pills and a cup
And the system my wife has, from one
Which is too low, to five where my mind
Soars into the red before the next down.
I may have a month of balance, knowing
This is all the normalcy we have – knowing
I cannot ask my wife to stay
Forever, with a husband so up and down.
Our joke is that the picture on the cup
Is Daffy Duck, and this is one
Piece of truth, for Daffy has his five and one
Episodes as well. Still, there is no knowing
If the balance of my mood and mind
Will improve, or simply stay
A lurching ritual of the cup
And pills, and the endless up and down
Scored by my wife’s numbers -marked down
For me to manage. I fear the one
The most, when the pills and the cup
Seem no use. Two is the harbinger, knowing
That the clear times seem to stay
Less and less. Five arrives galloping on a mind
Bent on excess and zeal, never mind
The unbearable grandeur, worse than the down
That is sure to come. I seem to stay
In constant flux, or as one
Blown on a wind, always knowing
I am tied to numbers, three pills and a cup.

I long for a mind that for one time
Is nailed down and knowing
It can stay independent of any cup.

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