Dave Bonta's short poem turns relaxation into something uneasy. The speaker says they "work at leisure," which already sounds like a contradiction, and then calls it "a holy war," as if even rest has become a serious, almost sacred struggle. The title, "Re/creation," plays on the same idea: recreation as fun, but also re-creation, the making of something anew.
The middle lines suggest that the speaker has paid for every pleasure themselves, so nothing is a gift. The result is bleak: a "supper of ash," a meal with nothing left in it. The last line, "ourselves a dish," is the most unsettling. It hints that people end up consuming themselves, or being served up by their own pursuit of enjoyment. The mood is dry, ironic and a little bitter. The poem seems to question whether bought, busy pleasure can nourish anyone, though it leaves that question open rather than stating an answer.