When the mayonnaise was all gone, we had mustard and ham on bread.
Though in truth an inconvenience, I perceived
an adventure instead.
In school, I embraced modern fortune and
learned to use “magical” paste.
It smelled of the wonder of childhood…and had a peculiar taste.
The zest of Orange Crush was compelling
and made me feel I had transcended—
An explorer who’d made a discovery—a conquest
worth being defended.
Possessing it gave me a standard—for popsicles too were supreme,
My favorites, root beer and banana, like fruits
of a fantasy dream.
My father used twine for everything—keenly versed in the uses it had.
But in my mind, it stood for the strength that I idolized in my dad.
When I purchased my very first binder, it was with such deep honor and
awe—
It expressed a sophisticate system—proclaimed progress
I somehow foresaw.
When my mom mopped the floor, she used Pine Sol—and no other scent could
compare,
Its fragrance evoking proud smiles and a
feeling of Mom’s complete care.
In sixth grade for each journal entry, a scratch ‘n sniff sticker was earned—
I relished each sniff with great pleasure—the smell of reward, I had learned.
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