An Ode to the PB&J

When I felt dismayed because the day had been grey,

Or if smoking weed left me with a desperate need to feed,

I’d crack open the pantry and make a delicious snack.

First the white bread, pillowy soft, never lite, just right,

At least 2 slices or 4, whatever I’m due, thank you,

Laid on a dinner plate either crooked or straight.

Then I’d break out the Jiff, pop the cap, take a sniff,

The nutty scent of smooth Jiff is a gift to the senses,

Spread it on thick, take a lick and make it quick.

Last comes grape jam, not jelly, that’s on the exam,

This I’d spread fairly thin while beginning to grin,

For just a hint of sticky sweet that can’t be beat.

Can’t eat yet, full stop. Can’t forget the cherry on top,

Pour myself a tall glass of that delicious silk we call milk,

Each bite I take makes me reminisce, the taste is pure bliss.

Reminds me of times spent at play on hot summer days,

Chasing friends, tossing balls, riding bikes to the mall,

Telling jokes with my folks and stories to ease our worries.

Even now, if life gets crappy, a PB&J can still make me happy.