Life is an Orgy & Window Pie

They float like most,
They wear it well,
That fine gloom,
It catches the subway lights,
It is inexpedient,
For truly, there are not many things to laugh at now.
There are those, in spite of life,
Who smile for reasons unknown,
Laugh, though needless,
Giggle on contact,
Ask of your sciatica, your pickled liver,
Your gout, your kidney stones,
Or your dog’s hernia,
Your goldfish, losing its goldenness
Oh dear, you poor thing,
Are you gon’ die soon?
They ask.
They gesture wildly,
Hug tightly,
Eat loudly,
Shake hands firmly,
Then move on to another,
Rinse, repeat.
Nothing is truly honest or fake,
You can never quite finger the source of their private joy,
For these ones,
Life is an orgy and a window pie,
Nothing deadlier than these.