“Twist on Instead”
A better man would dine on sand, be less of a snit
and instead be sated by whatever the chef sent.
Instead, I tend to complain about sardines and dates
and detest whatever nutrition is seated before me.
A better man would drive a sedan, ignore each scratch
and dent, the stain and tears on the faux leather.
Instead, I seat myself on the plush satin of imports,
stand from the inset to a height twice the fiberglass.
A better man would aid the poor, diet more, edit
each idea and tend towards being somewhat of a saint.
I ain’t. Instead, the deist in me hates these echoes
and the nest, stays sane and ignores all the voices.