print previewback RON WALLACE
Misanthropic
after Buson
My happiest days are the days I have nothing to do. With
nothing to do I enjoy getting nothing done, my
one goal to get up in the morning, take nothing by the arm,
and sit in the house doing nothing. Midday, for
a break, I might think of going out with nothing, but a
better thought restrains me: I turn to my pillow
and, thinking only of nothing in particular, I
might doze and dream of nothing. Nothing really
pleases me more than nothing. It’s something like
being completely alone in the world with only myself
and nothing else to worry about, nothing at all. Under
other circumstances I might think I’m missing something, the
company of loved ones or friends. But if they grow hazy
or distant, it’s nothing. I’ll fly myself to the moon. 
The last words of each line, read vertically top to bottom, form a haiku by the Japanese poet Buson.
Bellwether
The House Always Wins
Misanthropic
The Rapture