When life gives you lemons,
You make what now?
Barefoot wanderers that play guitar and know where to find secret waterfalls?
Fermented, albino monsters hiding under the beds of traumatized children whose parents take them for granted?
What spells lemonade these days?
I’ve poured the cheap packets more times than I can count
I even got one of those fancy carafes
to make them feel like this was some real Southern hospitality shit
While I poured for them, the Monkey whispered in my ear
“Give them what they want. Use your gifts.”
His beard tickled me there
The guests thought that I was smiling for them
I was bending myself inside out for their consideration
I showed them all that I had, am, will ever be
Every single creation inside me
That was ever worth being seen
Mesmerized, they dabbed their lips
Said, “Very nice. Very nice indeed. Quite the experience. But,”
Where was the Monkey when I needed him?
Dabbed their lips again
“This isn’t what we ordered.”
I checked the powdery suspension
Tilted my head at the curious error
Where did I go wrong?
My lemonade was fresh, full of zest
Nothing like they’ve ever had
As pink as the Monkey’s tongue
that first whispered confidence
Before it turned sour