Updated: Apr 14, 2022
/ Poetry /
The world explodes. Sedition, insurrection, coup all float in consciousness. I sink into wine. Childhood stares through midnight-colored Malbec reverie. Trapper Keepers, Lunchables, and slug bugs welcome me, the names precise, but playful. But what color were the slug bugs? I remember competing with classmates to find the most, but can’t recall the contours, dents, paint. The sputter of engines. I recall a rubbery taste to Lunchables. But the packaging was neat, the color of the sun at recess, when you could swing high. I think. I close my eyes. Whisper names. Trapper Keeper. Lunchable. Slug bug. Images keep blurring.