the things that eat me
I cared about cookies once, I counted them,
When I was a Girl Scout, and we stood
Outside of the mountain of monopolies,
Princess Mermaid selling coffee (which was new), and a Giant, and the breaker-of-blocks.
We offered tan cookies that tasted tan, and learned that
Most children don't like toasted coconut until they are 12, and they find
That caffeine (with milk and sugar) can make you feel like an Adult, and Adults
Think mint is not a dessert, and peanut butter cookies
Are for dads and maybe teenager sisters, who eat
While watching heath ledger fall in love.
I cared about cookies, and people buying them, and the number of boxes.
And a sheet my father took to his office, my name
At the top, his co-workers spied and
Inked their names beside mine (like we were signing up to my friends!)
They could give cookies to their teenage daughters, husbands (maybe there were dads), and I
Wondered if their daughters, were like me, and
Counting cookies, and would their numbers eat mine?
Girl vs. girl, throwing cookies and cutting brace-laden teeth,
Oh... Not much has changed—thin fingers count cookies, but the numbers must be itty, and the sugar invisible, like a cloud stretched so thin
You can barely taste it.
And our counting, our caring,
Leaves us hungry (instead of full).
what eats you?