Pickles
In April, I went to the grocery store,
and came home with only a jar of pickles.
Clear glass with a green lid, store brand,
Whole petite full pickles.
At home, I opened it right away,
Fished them out with my fingers,
And ate them all right away.
I tried to stop and put them down,
But like a siren calling from the fridge,
I couldn’t walk away.
The next jar was bigger
But it’s still almost full.
They don’t taste quite like they did
That night in April.
Today, they had pickle balls at the store,
Like cheese balls but pickle flavored.
I didn’t bring them home.
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I especially like the first part of the poem—that immediate need to get the jar of pickles, “fish” them out and finish them off! Love line..,a siren calling from the fridge.