Two linked sugars
make up a disaccharide.
And that’s what we are-
simple, plain table sugar
dully passed back and forth
to sweeten our taste.
Sometimes I'll accidentally
switch the shakers for breakfast,
hand you the salt
just to change up the spice.
And sometimes I regret
the bitter words
you exchange in return
for breaking the boring
status quo.

Two linked sugars make up a disaccharide. And that's
what we are. Simple, plain
table sugar, dully passed back
and forth to sweeten our taste.
Sometimes I'll accidentally switch
the shakers for breakfast, hand

you the salt, and you hand
me a spice so harsh that
my tongue curls at the unexpected switch.
I do not prefer the boring, plain
predictable exchange of taste
I followed for so many years back.

So I turn my back
to you, hold up my hand
as a shield of what you would say next. "Have you lost your taste,"
you say, anger overshadowing your faded love, "that
I've grown plain
to you?" I knew then to make the switch

into freedom from the same scene replayed. I get up and turn the light switch
off and leave you in the dark. "When you get back
from work," I say to the plain
dining room, "you will find this ring off my hand."
I can barely see your eyes glowing in the only source of morning light. "That's
absurd," you exclaim. "All because of how I want my cereal to taste?"

I shake my head. "It's not the physical taste. It's the taste
of you that makes me want to switch
out of this marriage. You aren't giving me what I want, and that
is my reason to back
out of this. You offered your hand
to hold mine, to support me, but it's all so plain."

I continue, "And isn't it plain
to see that my taste
in relationships lack passion? I give out my hand
to anything that flicks the switch
of love. You give me the nudge to turn it back
off." With that

I exit the house and try to restore my taste the way I had it back
to my actual preferences. I switch from the plain
safety and run with the risk that I never had at hand.

All I want, though, is to be a part of a disaccharide, and never dissolve. Someone I can grow old with, share a bench under the Space Needle, take photographs of me when I'm not looking. I don't want to be old news to them. I want to be the newspaper they pick up every day, read my stories, and know tomorrow will still happen, there will still be more stories to read. I would very much like to be in someone's life the way I wish for someone to be in mine.
I don't want to spend my whole life searching, chasing, waiting for you.

The highlights of my summers
Were the streetlights coming on
and having to come sit on
the porch or go inside while
my big brothers and sister got to run around.
getting in the big van and watching the trees, the farms,
the rivers, clouds, and the stars,
pass by as we traveled. Playing games and playing games
with my siblings till we got too tired to keep going.
Staring into the sun to see who'd blink first.
Falling asleep and waking up somewhere else.
sword fights with sticks, wrestling matches...
foot racing, bike racing, calling out eachtime
biplanes or blimps passed overhead in the blue skies.
Running in the warm rains of sudden showers,
watching lightning flicker overhead and counting the seconds
it took for the thunder to reach our ears to see just how far away the storm was.
Eating dinners that left me stuffed.
Feeding sugar to ants by pouring the disaccharide
on ant hills and watching the ants take each granule
back down into their homes.
Chasing down ladybugs and putting them on weeds
filled with aphids to watch the red beetles feed.
Capturing lightning bugs, jumping high to reach them
as before they could float out of reach.
Laying in bed in the middle of night to finish a book
so I could talk about it to my older brothers and pass it on to my younger brother.
Feeding the dogs and having to clean up after they'd made a mess.
Getting ****** at my "mean" older siblings.
Trying to talk to my crush, and showing off when
it came to playing sports.
My summer was playing football game after football game,
getting hit hard, and tackling as hard as my scrawny body could.
Sleeping on the top bunk because I loved the summer heat.
Eating popsicles  and Italian ice and sharing with the neighborhood kids cause we had more than enough.
Sneaking to the corner store to buy bubbaloos,
chips, pop, and honeybuns with saved up chump change.
Visiting cousins, and celebrating birthday after birthday.
Yea, those were the good days.
The worlds falling apart now right before our eyes
and I just remember those good golden times.
I haven't seen a monarch butterfly
in more than a few years and they used to come every summer
in the thousands.