The Carob Cherub vs. Artificial Color (Red 40)

My earliest years tasted of carob,

And garden veggies still warm from the sun.

I was a free range, indigo cherub,

Exploring the world at a run.

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In my hand, a sticky, sweet date

With an almond nestled on top

Was reason to smile and celebrate.

At the health food co-op.

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I knew nothing of bologna, burgers and fries,

Or sugary, forbidden cereal.

In time, these omissions might feel like lies,

But, back then it was all that was real.

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Ignorance is not knowing what you do not know,

And for years I remained sheltered, protected,

But even a cherub must eventually grow.

It happened while a movie projected.

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In a dark theater, I sit in my seat,

Full of anticipation.

I am handed a Twizzler, artificial and sweet,

For me this is emancipation.

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I venture a bite, unsure what to think,

The red twist tastes somewhat of plastic,

There in the dark, things change in a blink,

Twizzlers are truly fantastic!

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It seems my world can scarcely contain

This deliverance by way of candy,

Within my head it changes my brain

As surely as a swig of brandy.

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Decades elapse, but I return to the past,

Each time I pull free a vine,

I savor the flavor, and wish it could last.

For me, this is Proust’s madeleine.