Blue Cheese and Old Pickles
Don’t ask me again how long.
A good joint could last awhile.
That blue cheese smell gave gags,
the price for sky-high smiles.
Don’t ask me again how many.
Really, who remembers them all?
Some were fun and young,
others old and small.
We all had a shelf life.
No more swinging from the tree.
A grocery bag of memories
of that wilder side of me.
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