Consider Chocolate

I’m writing poems
(& ignoring the dog)
because otherwise I’ll eat chocolate.
I could do my yoga,
I could,
since this is the first sunny November day in forever
be outside & be
good--yes,
a good, good person.
But instead I’m a
(practically)
unpublished writer
who is still in her long johns but
no pants
moping around the house
not really doing anything.
Some days these things just happen.

I tried “21 Jumpstreet”
but, as always,
the ending felt lacking,
my artistic idol
not at his best.
Just thinking about that
has the chocolate calling to me
from the fridge
(which is where we keep it),
or, there are the ginger snaps I made
chiming in
from their green bin just on top.
If I had friends, I would call them,
I think,
If I didn’t have a child--
but I don’t think like that.
I had one and lost one once,
so I don’t play that game--
chocolate, yes,
alternate universe, no.

Skip back instead to safer things--
my figure, my handwriting,
what to do with the dog if we move to India.
Stack up the unstarted projects
like dirty dishes in the sink--
hey--
wasn’t this place clean 3 days ago?
Think then ignore thoughts on babyproofing,
scrapbooking
Christmas shopping.
Flip mental channels
watch the infomercials
wonder what you usually do
at 3 o’clock
(Good God, it’s 3 already?)--
(Good God, It’s only 3?)
in the afternoon.

Look outside.
Think about laundry,
the defective, strobe light dryer.
Consider,
since your husband took the beer,
Chocolate.


-R.

p.s. I must admit I ate chocolate 15 minutes later anyway...