ORANGE SODA
 
Before she felt the cardboard she always lost the spelling be
on the first word. Which had absolutely no outcome on her life
(except her choice of colleges). In fact she recalled this had
always been the way. Then in simulating push-ups she reached
for the ceiling and hundreds and hundreds of lost shirt buttons
plummetted upon her. She like prune juice and tofu with wheat germ
but despised gristle on her frogs legs in white wine. The sudden
trickle of the word "sperm" distracted her for a moment before
realized what grandma had said (old and decapitating) about the
air pressure of canned goods on salty summer mornings. She picked
her nose ravishly hoping not to find anything of importance though
her name was Rhonda she never chewed gum. She glanced sharply when
the dog, porcelain and cushund, farted aloud she always had green
ink on her fingers but never her elbows and was always happy when
the dog was there to lick the salt off her shins. Porcelain farts
always made her very extreme. Nevermind the moments she counted the
destitute and mangled wooden toothpicks she counted (and kept in
a private collection on the top shelf of the rust colored locker
hidden in her closet) by the unsheltered woman on the corner. Until
one day, the man with illegal films of salamander came to visit. At
the point in the time she had a revelation: Dandrugg on her shoulders
made her tingle with excitement, but only for a moment then she blew
them away. Longing for that expe-i-ence again she asked the man:
Influenced by nothing she stared at the dead toad splattered on the
tire of the garbage truck accross the way and, "I can't spell that."