My Life

Pleasures want to send me into exile –
cannot have one and engage
the other – first: this bliss of an apotheosis
of warm bagel and cool scallion shmear
which through endearment to its rich
New York allurements – layered crunch
of onion bits and garlic, poppy seeds
and salt – would take me right now,
not a question asked, as its exalted lover;

second: a warm hugging beckoning which
makes mid-morning light seem like
a soft seducing blanket offered by a merciful
Manhattan mother tugs at me to savor it
and climb into its lap and nap – neat
and deep. One can’t, however,
simultaneously sleep and eat. Which will
be the former, which the latter treat?
My life is pretty goddamned sweet.



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