The Battle

The dining room
Smells of heavenly aromas





Simple











But strong and pure







I want to succumb








To the temptation
I want to give in
To the intimidating dinner plate

The gold ivory leafed plate
Is the enemy
And I am the soldier
We’re
Facing battle
The food is the territory
I’m losing the battle

The pointed fork
The sharp knife
Practice the way
Of the enemy
The grilled meat is
Laughing at me silently
Commanding attention
Holding me hostage
In my mind
The grilled beans
Smite me slowly

My mind spins
In circles of itself
It says
I can’t take it anymore
Dinner standing
Proud and strong
Is the enemy
So I am the victim
Afflicted and wounded