Ode to RC and Reese’s

A few years ago on my way to a writer’s conference it went quickly into a comedies of mishaps. Woke up late and didn’t have time to eat breakfast; got caught waiting for not one train to cross my road trip but two, and then just barely got there in time for my first session. My breakfast came out of the vending machine in the lobby.

That first session was on poetry. Excellent teacher, and some of the fellow writers were outstanding. After some introduction to writing poetry and discussion we were given directions and time to come up with something. Then we read them aloud. As others read aloud their work, I felt less and less like I belonged.

I read mine and was quite pleased. It was from my heart. And right there on table near me was indeed RC (the cola brought from home, my breakfast grabbed as I rushed out of the house to get there) and the pb cups from the vending machine. No one got my poem. I was the only one pleased.

The next fellow attendee got all kinds of approval and gushing over the poetic flowery typical poem about, flowers. It was not the first time that I felt out of place in my writing pursuit. Now, years latter, I am far more comfortable not being in the main stream and no longer seek the approval of the masses.

Ode to RC and Reese’s Cups

IF only those chocolate and peanut butter cups could hold the sugary liquid,

all would be right in my world.

Let the errors of my tongue

and the fumble of my feet be damned.

The pillow upon a blanketed bed to rest

is merely the top of these indulgences.

The strength and stamina to fuel another minute, my lifeline of energy, hidden in a cupboard

and pushed behind the milk and the tea.

Touch not my sweet nectar of sanity.

#juliekolb