Sometimes my life
feels like day-old cotton candy,
a little stiff on the edges,
sticky to the touch,
yet delicious enough
just to remain irresistible.
In such times,
I remind myself
that things could be worse.
I could go full-on stale.
I could droop from my cone.
I could sweat myself right into
a confectionary null.
There are those
who would find out that the candy
had been produced yesterday
and discard it into the trash.
For them,
it’s simply not good enough.
But give it to a child,
and it’s a source of joy,
an inducer of smiles,
a luxury of flavors
no matter its age.
The child’s palate
might not be discriminating,
and sometimes that is
the best thing
that can be.
Randy Boone resides in the pastoral beauty of Kunkletown, Pennsylvania. He can usually be found lurking about thrift stores, coffee shops or the great outdoors. His recent publications include poems in Three Line Poetry, Red Poppy Review, Long Story Short, The Penwood Review, Time of Singing, Shemom, and Glimpse.
