None of That
Anna Leahy A friend, a fellow poet, announces that he will someday open a restaurant called None of That, wanting customers to say, Oh, I'll have none of that, and by that, he means cheese. What confidence! I see now, only years later, it's acronym: NOT. I am jealous of his utter disdain. I am jealous of his unwavering voice. What would I not serve, what would I not allow on my menu? All I can think is beets, but who likes beets? They would not be missed. No, I long to loathe what others likely love and to be okay with that loathing. But I am poor at decisions. Insouciance is an illusion. I desire to deny others based on my own predilections, the strength of my convictions, whether right or wrong, but I find myself lacking, full of wishy-washy sympathy that, though I don't much like--what? what is it?--mint, trigger of my migraines, I see how others might. I have seen the thick tongue licking mint-chocolate-chip from a cone, have heard talk of julep, a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down. This friend will not stop. He claims that his second restaurant will be called None of That Either. He has more, more than I can muster, and I try harder to think of something, the thing. But all I want to keep from others is what I most want for myself because there might not be enough to go around. |
About the author:
Anna Leahy's book Constituents of Matter won the Wick Poetry Prize, and her poems appear widely in journals and anthologies. She teaches in the MFA and BFA programs at Chapman University, where she directs the Tabula Poetica series and edits the journal TAB. Her essay in The Pinch was named a Notable in The Best American Essays 2013, and she co-writes Lofty Ambitions blog, which is located here. |