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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

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

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