Vanilla Is
“Little boxes on the hillside; Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside; Little boxes all the same”
from first verse of “Little Boxes” by Malvina Reynolds
Vanilla Is . . .
the typical white picket fence
surrounding the front yard of a ticky tack house
It’s a sunless sky
waiting for a rainbow to embrace it
It’s an ordinary bird’s egg
before the burst of life emerges from it
It’s a pie without the fruit;
a cake with no frosting
It’s the color of eyes grown dull
longing for a glimpse of romance
It’s my skin untouched by summer -
still breathing winter’s snow
It’s the quickly fading fragrance of inexpensive cologne
as Tabu's more sensuous scent lingers on and on
It’s a milky white-washed soul
of unexceptional interest
It’s a lackluster longing
for nothing in particular
As I see it, vanilla is
the epitome
of monotony
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