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