By the Wayside
Remember third grade,
When the raciest book the teacher
read out loud
Was Wayside School Stories?
Maybe because my mom was all for
wholesome stories,
But hearing those books was a
weird guilty pleasure.
It was my first introduction to the
bizarre:
The Gothic novel of children's
stories.
Sometimes people disappeared into
alternate dimensions,
But more importantly, Bebe Gunn
was having troubles with her
brother Ray.
Today, I remembered the ice
cream.
The teacher at Wayside made ice
cream flavored like each student,
To teach the importance of diversity
and individuality.
And I remembered this today
because I found your shirt,
Kicked under the stage, and I
picked it up.
As I shook off leaves and other
debris of neglect,
Your shirt let forth your essence to
tease my nose.
And later I thought about how over
time,
I would have probably grown
immune to that smell.
I thought about how this must be a
computing error in the universe,
If you truly don't notice that primal
connection,
Like you don't seem to notice your
agonizing attraction.
But at that moment, I had to walk
away
Before my tear ducts could become
inundated with particles of scent,
Because the craving I got was more
than a chocolate-coated addiction.
I am suprisingly literal here, but
You would be my favorite flavor of
ice cream.
Only then you would still be here to
comfort me.
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