I wonder why
I feel this pull to opinion
To saying what I think
On some big issue.
If writing were a canoe
An issue would be the current
And my weak arms
Could hardly protest its pull.

The issue is very big.
Its size has grown by dint
Of tiny injustices
Of hidden shames
Of secret experiences
Accumulating over time
Becoming
Conversations
Then homilies
Court cases
Then political platforms
Then sides taken.

It’s a morass of debate
And wading in
Vociferating from
Orifices where food is ingested
Where the tongue resides
Warm and wet
Its movement against white teeth
And pink skin and red muscle
Produce a spray of
Airborne particles
That fall
And thus
Shards of experience
Broken-off bits of religious principle
Driftwood pieces of logical argument
And some statistics like fine gravel
Are lobbed through the air.

Wearying and unsatisfactory
As the stand might be
It beckons like the call of a temptation;
A pretty chocolate egg
That says “come eat me”
And lends to the mouth
A momentary power of consumption
While enslaving the taste buds
And filling the gut with a brown empty mass
And throwing the hormones into chaotic activity
And giving the brain a sense of useless purposefulness.

I want to do you the kindness
Of not eating the egg.