You can quantify happiness.
Her therapist requires an answer.

She counts smiles on one hand.
The answer is less than five.

Her ritual begins
with a flame 
above dead-rose wax.

She searches herself 
on the internet 
and leaves 
a 1-star review.

Sweaty pepperoni 
hangs in stale air.
Plastic knives clatter,
diet soda slurps.

Yesterday’s teriyaki steam 
turns her stomach
from the other side 
of the tiled cage.