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
