why diets are okay, sometimes

the feast, the feast of of course;
table groaning, waiters
silently to and fro.
narrow alleys forming mazes
between overflowing
serving platters.
don't care is the night's
special menu item.
but its taste is false, and
one is what one eats, so
pass it by.
the nonchalance? i judge
it too salty,
tongue shriveling jerky like
saliva sapping fever.
ugh, lumpy revulsion,
with greasy indecision gravy?
no?
jello ed self-loathing, then...
but why? why when no crime
has been committed?
flick toothpicky fear away,
elbow the sizzling secret
onto the floor.
there is wispy hair
in the hate soup, send it back.
opting for empty plate?
at least try dinner rolled
buttered questions.
but even those muddle the mind,
and hurt feelings.
another time, another place
live the kitchen, be the chef...
some divine disher-outer.
no conflicting meats, then,
no irresolute sauces, and never
any hooded desserts.
that feast will be nutritious.

*Why do I believe things I shouldn't? Aching, aching, aching...and no tree bark for miles.