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Odds and Ends No. 68

As strange as it seems, I’m forcing myself
to eat salad. I enjoy eating salad out once
in a while because I don’t have to make it.

But the state of my life demands otherwise.
I eat at home more often than not. My
eating alone habits rarely include salad.

They include soup, sausage, peanut
butter, and the like. A little rice. Or an
occasional pasta that would last most

of the week.  The sausage staple is the
easiest part. Wrap two Polish sausages
in paper towels. Place on paper plate,

microwave for one minute and thirty
seconds. Squirt some mustard on the
plate. Hot, juicy, yummy. Done. But I

had to choke the salad down! Where
did my distaste for salad begin? Come
to think of it, I don’t remember taking

salad in the mess hall during my Army
days. A twenty year salad gap. In
retrospect, there was salad in marriage

and neither fared well. But to be
truthful, my salad with oregano, salt
and pepper, garlic with olive oil and

fifteen shakes of red wine vinegar
remains a favorite. I guess it comes
down to this. Some days are salad days

and some days are not salad days. And
for me, there are fewer salad days by
unconscious choice. I seldom crave a

salad. A rabbit and I have absolutely
nothing in common. Yesterday I bought
two bags of lettuce and five Roma

tomatoes to get myself to eat salad
this week. One salad put me over
the top. After today’s lunch salad, I

rather not think of salad again this
millennia. The tomatoes won’t go to
waste. If I cook a pound of pasta, it

will last a week. Like I said. Then,
I could make a fresh light sauce with
one tomato. I’m gagging thinking about

the lettuce. I measured out an 85 gram
portion like it said. Much too much
lettuce for me. Where does this lead me?

I do remember salad pressure when I
was a kid. My mother would serve a
small bowl of salad before the main

meal. She refused to serve the meal
until everyone finished their salad.
The seeds of salad enmity were sown!

How do I get out of this salad exposé?
After all of this embarrassing salad talk,
but one thing comes to mind.

Let us pray.

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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