the experiment in '79 

my young wife collected her daily requirements, the tools

used for teaching public school children and left the house

leaving me in charge of our three year old son.

he was in the process of eating a nourishing breakfast

prepared by his mother, which resembled something

from an all-night diner on the wrong side of Mars;

a grey, globular concoction of protein, minerals, vitamins,

and whatever else was pre-determined to be “good for him”.

looking at his round, angelic face, I began to question

whether or not this breakfast was to his liking.

I'll bet he’d like a bowl of vanilla ice cream, or a sprinkled, chocolate-

frosted donut, or a handful of granulated sugar from the labs at “Domino”––

born from the sweltering cane fields of the sun-scorched West Indies,

finding its way to No. 1 Federal Street, Yonkers, New York, 10706.

I tipped a teaspoon of seedless raspberry jelly, and slipped it into his mouth

and he lit-up like a 1000 watt bulb during a full solar eclipse.

I panicked, pacing the kitchen, mumbling: “my god! what have I done”?

I splashed cold water from the faucet into my face like Richard Pryer

dousing the consequence of freebase,–– but there he was,

busily munching on the concoction prepared by his mother.

I cleaned-up the incriminating evidence like a frenzied forensic scientist

guilty of committing a crime against humanity, wiped his cherub-like face

and in time recalibrated my life, such as it was, on a recurring roll.

Wellston, Ohio