I feed my need on fruit and nuts
And give it tea to drink
Because I’d rather fill my guts
Than feel compelled to think.

No sooner have I downed a bowl
And finished off the cup
Than, from its little hidey-hole,
Another thought pops up.

And so I fetch another plate
And stuff my face anew.
It’s no surprise I put on weight,
But what’s a guy to do?

The passage to the pantry shelf
Is sacred to the separate self.

Photo by Henley Design Studio on Unsplash

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