Tonight's Poet Corner: Usually

Usually
by Belinda Roddie

Usually, I stick to scruples,
feeding myself a teaspoon of morality
mixed with just the right amount of cinnamon
and a hint of granola. Healthy. Hearty.
Gives you breath in your body on a September
heartland morning. Sometimes, however, I
skimp on breakfast, grab my briefcase, and
march out the door only to have my conscience
miss the train, and I'm left alone on the rails,
scowling, scouring, looking for opportunities
to self gain and self maintain, without
focusing on fairness for others. So when I
return home, contorted like a lamppost
struck by a stray SUV, I try to drip
scruples back into my meal, but usually
it grows tart in salty stuff, and I feel
bloated and guilty by the time I go to bed.