Happy poetry and Sushi

The problem with writing poetry when you happy is when your happy it's kind of nice to enjoy being happy instead of writing about it. For instance, say you’re a poet and your at a nice sushi restaurant, with family or good friends. Then a server brings your table the first plate of sushi (for me we’ll call it salmon bombers or fried California rolls, but you can insert you favorite sushi or a great appetizer if you have not been turned over to the sushi side) Okay, so your enjoying your company, your significant brushes their hand or foot just right on your leg and you have your favorite sushi in front of you. Soon the delicate wonderfulness of rice, seaweed, cucumber, crab, salmon, sauce, and whatever else that makes sushi taste wonderful is in you mouth. Now, answer this question to me, do you stop, pull our your laptop/notebook/napkin/pen and write a poem while your brain is in the enthusiasm of happiness? If you answered yes, then great for you, but the better answer for your psyche is NO! In two minuets all the good sushi will be gone and you’ll be left with some sort of gross squid, having missed the hilarious story your brother-in-law, who never speaks, tells about himself in a mad moment of sushi overload and the come-on your significant other was about to make on you until he saw you were writing a poem about enjoying life. I mean really! I guess some people might think that a poem about sushi is better then actually enjoying the sushi, but I sure as heck am not one of them (or amn’t one, for you more progressive writers/thinkers).

Sushi-
As you are, you wrap my tongue
In the delicate burst of joy
As taste buds tingle
Electrify pulses to the brain
That smiles, to savor the sensation.

Laughter fills the space
With stories
With the past.

It slows the intake
Until the eye, catches movement
A fury of wood and mouths
Longing for the sensation

Your move, your hand
Like a centipede
Pining you find

The rice turns brown
Drips,
You open your mouth again
To be entangled
Filled
Happy

The clashing of sticks
Slow,
The war over
You look at the warriors
Who sit back in their chairs,
Smile.