Peace By The Slice

When meditation failed,
I ordered pizza.
Unlike enlightenment,
it arrived in thirty minutes or less
(greasy as a Texas politician, but still hot,
so I double tipped),
and with half a bottle of passable wine and a paper plate
balanced atop the pizza box,
I made the pilgrimage to the living room
to reverently place my offering and myself
before my third eye.

A click brought me the world.

On CNN, an insurance agent struggles to remain upright in pounding surf
while he explains the delicious fine print
that will fuck policy holders
out of reimbursement for hurricane damage.

On channel 4, a voice over urges me
to ask my doctor if the latest antidepressant is right for me,
the screen filled with the image
of a woman weeping over her infant,
a heart monitor standing silent by the hospital crib.

On Channel 29, the Rams are playing,
and though the sound of swearing and shattering bones
drowns out the play by play,
I happily settle in for the evening
to enjoy a bit of circus with my bread.

There's only so much truth a girl can handle on a Thursday night.

For the Third Eye prompt at dVerse.