For what I ate
I feel bad.
My soul aches,
my heart is sad.
In hindsight I whispered,
“Eat neither now,”
but each one I defiled.
I don’t know how,
but alas I did
break my vow.
One was tender,
not hardly ready,
the other laid firm
like a solemn jetty
to buttress the tempest
and craving that be
in the dark depths
at the bottom of me.
Although young then
I was no stranger to fate
I could have left them alone to wait
for their honey to gather slowly within
to forever be as they had been,
but instead they heckled loudly
for “Original Sin”.
They are gone now,
but no virgins were they!
My vulnerabilities
their vexing inflated
I’m worse for that
which I have wasted.
And yet no better satiation
was felt with others I’ve tasted.
How will I tell
my one True-Blue
who keeps our flower
of love in bloom.
Shall I explain how I saw
splayed open like confections
full with lust for my direction,
two harlots screaming
in torrid syncopation
threatening doom
with my least hesitation.
Worse, they warned –
once my passion was unleashed
they would only accept
something “complete.”
It would not be hailed as “True”
until the final consumption
of not one, but two.
These bewitching dollops
would no longer wait.
They settled together
to enjoy their fate.
I savored them each
completely, and slowly,
my glee was immense, my
behavior unholy.
Yes, these flaws I sadly declare.
We mortals are no match
for Sirens in pairs.
Gods can repeat this rule
due to their station,
“Any goddess can adapt
to fit her vexation”.
So now I suffer
throughout my life
with guilt, misgivings
and marital strife
because I was tempted
away from my sacred oath
by two heavenly crumpets,
— and I ate them.
“Confession of a Serial Eater,’’ by William T. Hall, a New England- and Florida-based painter and writer
