I cannot stray too far from the ribs, as I must add more wood each
Hour to saturate their meat with smoke, and, being tethered in this
Fashion leaves me displeased with the day. How much more I
Might have done; a joke, as I do almost nothing, even when I'm not
Constrained. The wind's been fierce since dawn. It's very warm
And dry. It dessicates, and sets my aged nerves on edge.
I wonder how I might have fared, if not for wind, and ribs,
And house guests, dreadful whiny children, decades of low-grade
Despair. The question's stupid. Choice is just a plaything
Of the mind. I rise. It's time for me to add another batch
Of wood.