martinis and brunettes

you make the mistake
of opening
a sixteen ounce
bag of salted
and shelled
pistachio nuts
at your desk.
it isn't long
before the pile
of shells
grows to the left
of the keyboard.
a crumbly hill
of pale debris.
what demons
these nuts are
going from hand
to mouth after
nibbling at
the stubborn
shell, biting
the green bean
clean of it's
snug little house.
you can't eat them
fast enough.
you'll never buy
another bag and
do this again.
but you say that
about everything
you indulge yourself
in. from martinis
to brunettes,
and now this.