We'll Make a Jelly Sandwich
The corner store is the place to
be, where popsicles and lolas
are fished out of a cooler that
smells of basement, where marshmallow
strawberries and mojos cost a
penny, where bar sixes, peps and
wildfires are sold alongside
circus peanuts, lik-m-aid and
wax harmonicas, where we buy
a tiger-tail ice cream cone with
sprinkles, return after lunch for
NHL cards then go again
after supper for a jet and
lucky elephant popcorn. If
you should run away from home, as
we all do, this is the place to
go. The first day we hear the buzz
of cicadas, we’ll know it’s time.
We’ll make a jelly sandwich, take
our bindle to the parking lot,
lay down our blanket and worldly
woes: toys, piggy bank, pyjamas
and crayons for writing home: See
you never! The thrill of daring
to think of mischief and someone
else’s grief. Why would you do a
thing like this, Mr. will ask. Or
maybe, I’m not surprised. Either
way we’ll be grinning ear to ear.
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