O workshop cookies,
Which materialize dependably
Each Thursday afternoon, thanks to Deborah,
Kind supplier of our workshop cookies–
How good you cookies taste.
The treats punctuate the workshop
Halfway through; and I, responding
To the crackle of the packaging alone,
Start immediately to salivate–
Yes, salivate, even though I have already,
In front of everyone, wolfed down
Cheese and whatnot. But
Cheese and whatnot aren’t cookies.
I allow myself two cookies,
Only two, lest I disgrace myself entirely
And “greedily engorge without restraint,”
As Milton said of fallen Eve.
But sometimes, if my most recent
Exorcism has failed or faded,
The wickedness within urges me:
“Go ahead, kid, what the hell.
Take another cookie.”
Then against my better judgment,
I heed this dark, compelling
Voice and grab yet one more
Petit Ecolier–
Or even two.
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