"Don't overdo it," Dad yelled, watching me <br />Play shortstop, collect stamps and shells, <br />Roll on the grass laughing until I peed my pants. <br />"Screw him," I said, and grabbed every cowry <br /> <br />I could find, hogged all the books I could <br />From Heights Library, wore out the baseball <br />Diamond dawn to dusk, and—parents in Duluth— <br />Gorged on bountiful Candy dusk to dawn. <br /> <br />Not until a Committee wrote of my poems, <br />"Enthusiasm should be tempered," <br />Did I change my song. I write now <br />The way I live: calm and sober, steering <br /> <br />Toward the Golden Mean. The Committee <br />Was right to withhold funds. I'd have bought <br />A hundred box turtles with lemon-speckled shells, <br />Flyfished for rainbows six months straight, <br /> <br />Flown to the Great Barrier Reef and dived <br />Non-stop among pink coral and marble cones, <br />Living on chocolate malts, peaches, and barbecue. <br />I'd have turned into a ski bum, married <br /> <br />Ten women in ten states, written nothing <br />Poetry would glance at twice, instead <br />Of rising at 5:00 as I do now, writing <br />'Til noon about matters serious and deep, <br /> <br />Teaching 'til 6:00, eating a low-fat meal <br />High in fiber and cruciferous vegetables, <br />Then bed by 9:00, alarm clock set <br />Five minutes late: my one indulgence of the day.<br /><br />Charles Harper Webb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/enthusiasm/
