I’ve ordered
Some sweet potato chips
And a quarter chicken
At TGIF, the fast food chain,
Waiting for a moment of madness,
Of gravity prone food,
That accumulates the pounds
Around my waste, and yet
I would rather be cumbersome
Than spending a life
Of window shopping,
And passing, on life’s little joys,
Like a little fry of sweet potato
That sweetens a minute at most.
And yet, aren’t we all
Hunter gatherers of little editions
That are sweet around the edge
And honeyed in soul,
To sate the insatiable,
The lengthy graft we call,
The pursuit of happiness.
