I nosh on news at home,
at mid-morning desk,
a poem or two.
Lunch is just a slice of fiction,
then a skim through a trade how-to,
come snack-time, I feel a constriction,
and it’s not that my library books are due.
By dinner, with hardcover novel
in my left hand, restaurant menu in my right,
I find there’s so much eating and reading to do,
I may need to spend the night.