1 Jun: "Moderation Kills (Excusez-Moi, Je Suis Sick As A Dog)" by David Kirby

I’m tackling this particularly chewy piece of sushi and
            recalling the only Japanese words I know,
“Fugu wa kuitashii, inochi wa oshishii,” meaning,
            “I would like to eat fugu–but live!”
which, I’ve read, is something Japanese executives say
            when contemplating a particularly risky

course of action, because whereas the testes of the fugu
            or blowfish are harmless
yet highly prized as a virility builder, the liver,
            which is almost identical
in appearance to the testes, is toxic, so that
            a less-cautious individual,

a fisherman, say, who thinks himself as skillful
            as the chef who has actually been
educated and licensed in the preparation of fugu,
            might eat the wrong organ and die,
face-down in his rice bowl, chopsticks nipping
            spasmodically at the air.

Coming in from the vegetable patch, the fisherman’s wife
            sees him cooling in the remains
of his meal and shrieks, and I don’t know
            the Japanese for this,
“You have eaten fugu–and died!” True, though
            for anyone other than the new widow,

why should his death be exclaimed upon as though
            it were a failure or defeat,
since the fisherman had finished a good day of work
            and was not only enjoying his tasty snack
but also looking forward to the enhancement
            of his powers of generation,
this being therefore a fine moment in which to expire
            and certainly preferable to
countless moments of life as a fumbling drooler
            (since fugu liver can paralyze
as well), a burden to his loved ones as well as
            the object of their contempt.

Then someone across the table from me says he’s heard
            of a state of mind called boredom
but never actually experienced it, and I wonder,
            Can a mind that never sinks
into the cold gray waters of boredom ever rise to
            the blue-and-gold heavens of ecstasy?

Then someone else shouts, “Excusez-moi, je suis sick
            as a dog!” and disappears
laughing, but that’s okay because “ecstacy”=
            “ex stasis”= “get off the dime”=
“fish or cut bait” = “lead, follow, or get out
            of the way,” does it not?

Besides, who’s to say the fisherman didn’t hate
            his wife, couldn’t stand her?
And had to eat fugu testes in order to be able
            to countenance her and
therefore is better off dead and unknowing than
            alive and fully sentient of such misery?

Or hated himself and therefore is better off dead, etc.?
            And therefore who is
more admirable, the executive who fears death
            or the fisherman who actually dies?
Does the former feel brave merely because
            he has talked of taking a risk?

Would the doughty fisherman have said “Fugu wa kuitashii,
            inochi was oshishii” and taken pride
in his temperance? Certainly not–
            offered the same challenge under identical
circumstances, he’s have said, and I don’t know
            the Japanese for this either, “Moderation kills.”