When I think about what I most like to do with my time, I’m reminded that I’ve spent more hours writing poetry than I have working for a paycheck, about twice as many, and the thought that I might believe writing poems to be more important than putting food on the table worries me, not unlike how I’d imagine the parent with a child with Pica would worry their child would develop a compulsion for eating books, page after page, until only covers remained.