The first bite of a Mallomar,
Crunching like a boot,
On a fresh sheet of snow.
The sip of Ginger Ale,
On crushed ice,
With the squeeze of a lemon wedge
The smell of crisp Autumn air,
In September,
Just before the leaves change.
A puff of rich tobacco,
Rolled in Maduro,
With a glass of Scotch.
A salty, fatty, crispy steak,
Dripping of meat juice,
As it swims in steak sauce.
The lips of a beautiful woman,
Inside and out,
Pressing up against mine.
My fingers flicking,
Through fresh paper,
Of a brand new hardcover.
The feeling you get,
When seeing prints developed,
From your own 35mm roll of film.
A big, salty, garlicky pickle,
After a deli sandwich,
On a Saturday afternoon.
The palette punch,
Of a salt and vinegar chip,
From a fresh bag.
Looking at all that gives me joy,
One can see the truth,
In the meaning of life.
Little things,
Oh so grand,
In a world of big woes.
Not my favorite poem but the sentiment is important.
