The Gleaming Citizens

Once there was a city built of tears.

Everyone was crying all the time.

The weeping kept everything flowing,

But no one wanted to admire this.

People wept discreetly when they could,

And were always slyly palming tears.

There was no higher reputation

Than that of the most dry-eyed stoic.

Wily cryers claimed they couldn’t cry,

They weren’t brave, they said, just terrible

At welling up. More glistening cheeks

Nodded, Me too, I’m terrible, too.

To weep shamefully, in public view,

Was the most scandalous behavior,

Unless managed so defiantly

It almost made you check your own eyes.

This was all weird, given the city,

The high, shining, glistering city,

Needed tears, lubricated its gears

With them, floated in canals of them,

And everyone admitted as much,

Except with regard to their own eyes—

Their own contributions they’d deny

And then, wiping cheeks dry, off they’d glide.