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.