day one of donut sobriety

while oogling
a box of entennman's
donuts under the serene
buzz of neon at
the local grocery
store, you notice
that you are drooling
and that your
donut eating hand
is trembling. you reach
for a box to put it
in your cart, but
fortunately your
phone rings and it's
your sponser, betty.
don't do it, she says.
put the box back down.
just do it. now walk away
slowly towards the carrot
section. towards
the apples and grapes.
avert your eyes from
that evil shelf. but
i want one so badly,
you say, just one of
those gleaming beauties,
chocolate iced, and some
with sprinkles.
full of all
the ingredients i love,
like butter and sugar,
eggs and all those
chemicals that i
can't pronounce.
they are smiling at me
from behind
the sheer plastic
window where they
await my lips, you tell
her. that's not a smile
she says, it's a sneer.
your knees go weak,
and you lean on your
cart full of hummus
and carob, soy products
and fat free yogurt.
you hate yourself.
why, why can't you
have just one, one fat
donut. it would be
the last one, you promise
her, then everything
goes black and you
fall to the floor.
when you awaken the store
manager is hovering
over you with a salt
stick under your nose,
and he's eating a
bavarian cream.