Mr. Happy

he carries his prize in the breast pocket
just above the beat of his heart...
wrapped tidily in a folded sheaf of paper
written in pain, long ago
long forgotten
her name...
yet still
it keeps him warm, focused,
ready for the show...
he gazes into his eyes
the mirror holding
the only truth he knows
ready, steady, go...
he reaches for his frown
pushing up the corners
with all the will
his left hand can muster
as his right hand places
the red nose
upon his smiling face...