From the thirty-first to the first, <br />the urge to reassess, to recalibrate <br />rises like the steam from hard cider, <br />and as we celebrate <br />the ushering in of another year. <br /> <br />This time we will strive <br />for equilibrium, staving off excess; <br />one slice of strawberry-rhubard pie, <br />not two. One glass of Pinot Noir, <br />not three. One obsession, <br />not a hundred thousand. <br /> <br />On the first we’ll ferret out <br />that old exercise bike <br />and swiffer off the cobwebs, <br />erecting the vile machine <br />in the center of our living room, <br />where it’ll stand menacingly <br />like a statue of Lenin <br />or Mussolini. <br /> <br />On the first we’ll open a savings account <br />and find that piggy-bank we set out to graze. <br />We’ll clean the shower every day— <br />maybe we’ll vacuum the lampshades. <br />Oh what frollicking fun! <br /> <br />But it’s still the thirty-first, not the first; <br />let us lay our heads down <br />for a little brief respite <br />and reserve our stamina for the coming day; <br />I feel a bit tired, don’t you? <br />Maybe we’re coming down with something.<br /><br />Sonny Rainshine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-the-thirty-first-to-the-first/
