Sunday, March 29, 2015

PB & J

I want to eat you up like a pb & j.
Slather on the grape jelly like I was your favorite Little Rascal.
Leave what I do with the peanut butter to your most fertile of imaginings.

We begin as Children of Paradise and if we’re lucky we’re not sold off to the highest bidder, strapped with a bomb around our chest and delivered to a town square where unsuspecting people are going to die for no other reason than God has left this part of the world a long, long time ago.
It’s time to eat a pb & j and do my very best to forget my troubles and woes.
My sister brought me groceries today along with a large pepperoni pizza and allergy medicine. We have not connected much the past few years. In fact we’ve never really connected all that much to begin with, but we’re still family and when we hugged and said our I love you’s I felt a sense of family that I have not felt in many years.

We must learn to cease and desist from taking ourselves for granted.
It’s 3:53 AM and I swear my inner child is somewhere amid all of this clutter I like to pretend is my life when in truth my life is free range and cannot be domesticated.
I believe it’s high time I served myself with a search warrant and discovered once and for all where all of the bodies and freeze dried tears have been buried.

I’m going to go into the kitchen in a few minutes and make myself a sandwich and pour myself another glass of Coca Cola.
My favorite Little Rascal was probably Alfalfa even though both Spanky and Mickey rank up there at the very top of my list.
I remember episodes of this show better than I remember episodes from my own childhood. Life is funny that way continually keeping you guessing and wanting more until you end up drunk, banging on someone’s door, demanding fifty bucks for a hunting dog you’d loaned out and never been compensated for.

Charles Cicirella

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