Whenever I flush, I say,
“Good-bye, me!”
to the remains of,
for instance,
last nights crab-cake supper.

You see,
that IS me,
whirl pooling around
at the bottom of the commode
but,
a no-longer-useful-part-of-me,
just stuff,
devoid of
vitamin-C,
minerals, ethics, protein,
the milk of human kindness…

It’s the undigested fat
off a king-cut, medium-rare, prime-rib,
and the harmful sugars from that
tart and tasty lemon sorbet
I had for dessert,

those
no longer
parts
of what I am becoming.

“Sic Transit Me!”

My past, wrestled with and pinned,
past
(for not all experience and genetic insistence
must be determinative).

My sins, now forgiven,
past.
(Cherish not those wicked, buried, evils
during some late-night-lusts exhuming.)

My losses, taken to account,
past.
(Those nasty pot-holes and detours in my path,
filled and made straight.)

Even some wins,
some might-have-beens
that,
not-enough-things-considered,
were not flushed away before,
that might have become
a part
of a worse,
not better me.

What remains
is the remnant me,
that resultant me,
minus angst, ache and pain,

plus what ever is secure,
sacred, in my brain

and consequence,

still taking its toll,
thereby creating
Affect in my soul.

And capacity,

to learn from lessons,
many,
still to be lived,
in all those unexpected moments
still to come.

So,
you see,
a good enema
every now and a while
maketh for a happy spirit.

Defecation aids creation.

It is good to
pass,

(with fond memory
and hail fellow well met)

those pieces and bits
of me that are shit.

And don’t forget to flush.