In the day it’s black tea,
in the evening red wine.
It’s always something
because
this
isn’t quite right,
isn’t enough,
or quite what I wanted
to feel, I guess.
What is addiction?
What is a need, and what is a simple desire,
simply, to feel
something else,
to remove myself from
this
for a moment?
And what will it take
to get to the point
where I don’t want them
anymore?
But why am I so hard on myself,
anyway—
why do I berate myself
for enjoying these two
tannic things,
bitter and astringent,
that open my throat
and let me sing a little?
Originally published in Alimentum: The Literature of Food, Vol. 11 (Winter 2011): 98. Permission to reprint this poem has been granted by the publisher.
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