Peanut Butter, a Rant

Peanut butter – you are my enemy!

I would blame my many over-indulgences of you

on six years of boarding-school privations,

but we both know that it wouldn’t be true.

All logic, all reason

goes out of the window when you’re around.

I must eat you

for then, and only then, will you not be there

tempting me to eat you.

It’s bloody ridiculous.

Peanut butter – you are my kryptonite!

You are like heroin.

Okay, you’re not like heroin;

I can walk past you in the supermarket quite easily.

I’m not buying you, you bastard,

I say (in my head – what do you take me for?)

Remember what happened last time?

And the time before that?

And the time before that?

Me and peanut butter

   and infinite regress.

All things in moderation?

Fuck that, peanut butter!

It’s just not possible, is it?

It’s never going to happen.

Really, seriously (no, not seriously, I’m joking, obviously),

what is wrong with me?

It’s only madness which makes me buy you,

that, and when my sons come to visit.

‘Oh, look, I bought two jars –

one crunchy, one smooth –

for my sons, who like peanut butter.

What a good dad am I?’

But will they see any peanut butter?

Will they fuck!

Peanut butter, you’re like a leitmotif

running through the score of my

many failed attempts to control my appetite.

More like a darkmotif,

possibly a heavymotif.

I yearn for the destruction of civilisation

which will bring with it an end to you,

O, peanut butter.

Peanut butter?

More like peanut bitter.

Sorry to end with such a weak pun,

but you really don’t deserve any

better.