The Happy Part

Being told ‘I love you’ is pretty mundane.
The happy part is that split-second, nervous,
implausible moment after,
In which your face tenses
Because I might not say it back.

Going back home is nothing so special.
The happy part is that wonderful moment
When, sat on the third step up,
With a cup of coffee,
I realise nothing has changed.

Sophisticated party invitations are tedious.
The happy part is that embarrassing
Thrilling, gloriously stupid opportunity
To prove we were never cool enough for this party anyway
By giggling like maniacs.

Nature’s majesty is too infinite to love.
The happy part is suddenly seeing, with a shock,
That on the knobbly tree-trunk next to me,
Two ladybirds are mating. You don’t get that in the city.

The happy part.
Those in-between type things, which aren’t dramatic,
Or obvious, or written about in verse.
They just are. Sunshine makes dancing patterns on eyelids.
Cats yawn and roll over, lost to their dreams.
The phone rings, and it’s not someone selling kitchens
But a friend whom you were meaning to call.
These small, stupid, oh-so-human things
Which hardly matter at all.