By the Wayside

Remember third grade, When the raciest book the teacher read out loud Was Wayside School Stories? Maybe because my mom was all for wholesome stories, But hearing those books was a weird guilty pleasure. It was my first introduction to the bizarre: The Gothic novel of children's stories. Sometimes people disappeared into alternate dimensions, But more importantly, Bebe Gunn was having troubles with her brother Ray. Today, I remembered the ice cream. The teacher at Wayside made ice cream flavored like each student, To teach the importance of diversity and individuality. And I remembered this today because I found your shirt, Kicked under the stage, and I picked it up. As I shook off leaves and other debris of neglect, Your shirt let forth your essence to tease my nose. And later I thought about how over time, I would have probably grown immune to that smell. I thought about how this must be a computing error in the universe, If you truly don't notice that primal connection, Like you don't seem to notice your agonizing attraction. But at that moment, I had to walk away Before my tear ducts could become inundated with particles of scent, Because the craving I got was more than a chocolate-coated addiction. I am suprisingly literal here, but You would be my favorite flavor of ice cream. Only then you would still be here to comfort me.