I’m leaning over this pot of stewing vegetables,
trying to stay healthy, I’ve thrown everything into the mix
I can imagine might make this vegetarian dream meal palatable.
I wonder about adding noodles, just a few for a taste,
but I realize the starch will undo my resolve to lose weight,
so I stiffen myself, hold on, savor the hint of bay leaf,
the touch of cinnamon, the dash of thyme.
And breathing this steaming cloud portending nothing
but good eating up ahead, I seem to see
the figure of distorted Future beckoning me
to follow it along a trail that quickly turns
into a narrow rubbled cliffside path,
crumbling beneath my feet as I stagger along,
and there, up ahead, is a hazy form, human, a woman, I believe,
and as I approach nearer, fearing ever a plunge to my death,
I perceive Angelina Jolie, of all people, stealing a car, my car,
breaking the lock and leaving me behind, choking in her dust,
unable now to drive myself home to enjoy my nutritious meal.
Startled, I come to, stare into the steaming pot, and contemplate
what kind of future might await me when I dig into this creation.