Sustenance

Somewhere,
behind four cans
of chickpeas 
and 12 stale 
curry varietals,

you know
we must walk into the fire
and put it out.

In the meantime,
we mix
ten thousand 
takeout spots
with forty thousand 
partial fantasies.

How many 
pinches of 
doubt will 
sour this enough
to drain?

This is your poet speaking:
Please stop ordering in.