The Resolution Execution
Why do I make resolutions?
Will I ever change?
Every year a new solution,
yet I am still the same.
I inhale sweet pollution,
a different flavor every year —
but now with retribution
after ball-drop cheer.
My diet is a constitution,
guilty pleasures await.
My body, my institution —
I don’t care the date.
The ritual of absolution
of a commitment I must make
feels like personal destitution,
an action I’d rather fake.
Would you like my allocution?
Well, I have no remorse.
There is no attribution,
because I won’t stay the course.
Here’s a substitution —
my offering to midnight.
My only contribution
is nothing, out of spite.
Copyright © Rebecca Miller | Year Posted 2025
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