Someone Else's Childhood Memory

It’s not you; it’s me
I’m the one
That needs the work
Forgive me
I shall be myself in a few days

Climbing
Shouting
Anxiety
Bills
Cream

It’s all about the cream
That Damn cream
Everything doesn’t have to be about the whipped cream
Or does it?
Why can’t I have a normal life?

Waiting in line
For an oil change
Came across a little café
We were hungry
So we thought we would grab some lunch

I’ll have a salami sandwich on rye
He’ll have a bowl of your soup du jour
Why are you ordering for him miss?
I don’t know
Habit I guess

He would also like
Your crème burlee
With extra whipped cream
I do?
You always want the whipped cream

I do not
You do too
Can I just order my own damn meal?
You don’t love me anymore
You used to always let me take care of you

There were no kids
Just the car
That was broken
And the salami sandwich and soup du jour
And that whipped cream

Creamy chowder with biscuits
And tomato enchiladas with cheese
You should watch your cholesterol intake
I want you to be around with me until I die
Who says I wouldn’t?

Your diet says you wouldn’t
Says who?
Cheese? Whipped Cream?
You’re the one who ordered the whipped cream!
I was just trying to please you!

Can I get you anything else?
A beer?
A glass of wine?
Oh we don’t drink here
Says who?

I would like a drink
I would like a whiskey
The hard stuff
It’s the only way I’m going to tolerate
The rest of the afternoon

And the bill
For the car
God I don’t want to know how much that
Bill
Will be

Huddled Masses

Routine shuttled me away at a young age
Just like it did to everyone else
We are huddled masses
The ones who cry for love

We know not of its true name

New month, new theme

This month, bring out the big guns: CHILDHOOD MEMORIES.

It doesn't matter if yours were good or bad, and the more embarrassing the better. We always say our childhood is the best fuel for our writing, so bring it kiddos. We want to hear about your childhood, in poetry form. Just do it.

Summer

They say that this is summer
That summer is full of change
I don't think that's true
Summer is just strange

Be it June, July, or August
Muggy, hot, or dry
I believe that summer
Is just a time to cry

I don't really think so
But rhyming is quite hard
Cry is the only thing I could think of
That fits into this little yard

This isn't making any sense
So I will leave you now
I can blame it on Korea
And the newness that is approaching me. WOW!!!