Immobile—my heart stops dead in its tracks. I know I play a dangerous game.
Close proximity to the object of my desire might prove the death of my long held dreams.
Retribution for my act of defiance
will surely come in the morning.
I sigh. One more Oreo won’t hurt, will it?
Maybe I won’t step on the blasted scales tomorrow.
Maybe I’ll let my diet take the day off.
An early Christmas present. Or birthday present.
You can keep the Oreos, but I know the feeling when I grab a cup of coffee in the afternoon which must be accompanied by an iced fruit bun. It is a rare day that my conscious pricks me into a denial. Ssh! I won't tell. I have so many birthdays each year too.
ReplyDeleteThat was really goodone.. and then oldegg made it so interesting..here..
ReplyDeleteNice job of describing a human fraility many of us share.
ReplyDeleteyummy poem, very creative.
ReplyDeletedon't we all feel this way when were dieting,Great poem.
ReplyDeleteI like this one.Fun poem. I haven't had one of old egg's sticky fruit buns for ages . I had to give them up because I could not stop at one. Bet you can't either old egg!
ReplyDeleteFruit cake, or hazelnut chocolate, that's what does it for me.
ReplyDelete