A Poem on the Occasion of Ian's First Night at College

At the Food Lion

 

I miss the taste of Orange Quangaroos.

Of all the cereals I powered down

back in my sugar-laden, milk-wet youth,

I miss it most. The tiny corn puffs, round

and orange, more pastel than red or gold,

as if their glow had faded in the sun,

took to the dairy whiteness like a foal

still nursing, still a bit too young to run.

I know the taste was much more sweet than tart,

a citrus with the corners sanded down,

but even now, I make room in my cart

and dream of aisles in which it might be found,

and curse nostalgia's lying on my tongue,

and sigh, and miss the taste of being young.

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This page contains a single entry by Peter Cashwell published on August 15, 2009 7:26 PM.

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