THE CHOICE OF PULP

THE CHOICE OF PULP

In the slow process
of getting us sane,
we have ground
our poor souls into a pulp.
Pulp is not bad, as it goes,
but I’d rather have
something fresher, lighter,
more soothing than pulp.
Pulp seems so ordinary, so
mundane. Really, if my
soul has to be ground
into something,
I’d rather it be some fairy dust,
or at least
some cinnamon or cocoa.
But since one’s soul
is usually ground
without permission,
one rarely has
a choice.