More than just memories, more than blasts from the past,
these are fatal delicacies made with torment, anguish, incivility, and regret.
Dining in the corners of my mind,
I eat up all the plates of what was said and did…
and drink up the glasses of what wasn’t.
Now, I’m changing eateries and changing diets.
Struggle catches me as expected,
but with each day, I become more protected.
They partially made me obese in spirit,
yet are not at fault for me being errant.
Perhaps it is more pleasant to point fingers,
to blame all the waitresses, cooks, and patrons,
and to shame the overall service
when pointing, blaming, and shaming are the standard.
Cutting back takes many moons,
and under the glow of this neon sign,
the taste of the past will not compare to the flavor of the future.