Willpower

My parents sent me to Catholic school

so I could “learn discipline.”

What they meant was,

I would learn to be quiet,

behave in church,

do my homework,

not act up,

not talk back.

But what I failed to learn

was a daily discipline.

Instead, I roll over

onto my side and

hit snooze

for the fifth time

because I want to see

how my dream,

rudely interrupted,

plays out.

My resolve crumbles

in front of the candy bar display

at the cash register.

I see the vibrant red lipstick

or the new t-shirt

or the best-selling paperback,

and I figure,

what’s ten, twenty bucks?

I keep buying the reusable cup,

the cloth tote bag,

to save the world!

Then I forget them at home

and return with even more plastic,

and I think with regret

of the choking turtles

and strangled seabirds.

I rue my laziness

and shame my spendthrift ways.

Because although maybe I didn’t

learn discipline at Catholic school,

I sure did master guilt.