Under the influence this morning

of reading a terrific book of poems

given to me by my sister,

I confess

that sometimes

I can over-indulge.

 

Like the Wheat Thins

I ate last night.

 

(I ate way more

than were necessary.)

 

I ate them

like a Wheat Thin-eating machine,

accompanying them with “seriously sharp” cheese

and seriously-satisfying beer,

but I ate 

more than I should have.

 

And this morning I read

more poems than I should have.

And yesterday I played 

more notes than I should have –

even though I haven’t played

any notes on my flute or recorder

in years.

 

Overdosing on…

Poetry

(cool!)

Music

(wow!)

Wheat Thins

(tasty!)

… I’ve discovered that

my capacity to indulge 

has been lost

with the bloom of youth,

 

and that

regrettable sobriety

must rule my passions, 

which is a bummer.

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