briny
a poem about pickles
The wonder of a childβs eyes
Looking at a simple building
The whole world fitting inside
With warm dripping sun
Palms waving hello
In the gentle salt laced breeze
A place of toasted bread
And cheap melted cheese
Where a love for pickles was born
Like a spiritual awakening
Learning the scrumptious flavor
Of pickled cucumbers
Eating outside during the beauty of the day
In comfortable company
Under awnings and trellises
Talking about freeze tag and nonsense
Among the deli paper crinkles
With their red and white checkers
As if I could hop right into them
And play a game
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