Each individual jelly-belly
jellybean in a clear bag
tied with a red wire
is so different from each
other individual jelly-belly
jellybean in that clear bag.
The one that I find,
without fail,
without fault,
is always the one that
tastes like black licorice.
The sticky, overly sweet,
bitter black gunk that junks
up my perfectly good bag
of jelly-belly jellybeans,
and I am never paying
enough attention
to catch myself
before I pop it
into my mouth,
unaware that I will be
receiving: not cotton candy,
not coconut, nor cherry or lime,
but a black piece of bitter-sweetness,
whose taste always seems to linger.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
Each individual jelly-belly
jellybean in a clear bag
tied with a red wire
is so different from each
other individual jelly-belly
jellybean in that clear bag.
The one that I find,
without fail,
without fault,
is always the one that
tastes like black licorice.
The sticky, overly sweet,
bitter black gunk that junks
up my perfectly good bag
of jelly-belly jellybeans,
and I am never paying
enough attention
to catch myself
before I pop it
into my mouth,
unaware that I will be
receiving: not cotton candy,
not coconut, nor cherry or lime,
but a black piece of bitter-sweetness,
whose taste always seems to linger.
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