In Praise of the Classics
Know how you always buy that single can of lentil soup
for every ten cans of split pea, the kind you actually like
and would be content eating daily save for the lingering misgivings
induced by some antiquated article you’d read decades ago
about the dangers of a diet lacking in variety
And you know how you figure one day you’ll acclimate enough
to its earthen flavor to enjoy it rather than scarfing it down
in a kind of motion nearly mud sad enough to flatten the spoon
And know how the labels look similar on those
lentil and split pea cans, how you stack them on the top shelf
of a corner cabinet, so that when reaching for one you register
without looking only the heft of it in your palm
And know how today you so anticipated that warm bowl
of split pea soup that you wielded the can opener
like a piece of medieval weaponry piercing through armored flesh
And know how your anticipation was instantly deflated
when you saw in the nearly mangled can that swampy mass of lentils
And know what stopped you from tossing in the rubbish the entire mess
was that sudden resignation to what’s right in front of you
Eat the lentils. Read the classics. Run through the Parthenon.
Some commitments give you all the right sustenance in all the wrong flavors