When I was a child, in elementary school,
The teachers would hand out pineapple during snack time,
Shaped like sticks, in little plastic bags.
I’m not allergic to pineapples,
But the juice used to sting
Both my tongue and my throat.
I would complain to my mother, after I went home,
And she always said,
“Then don’t eat it”.
But I really couldn’t do that.
Pineapple was my favorite, it isn’t anymore,
But it was my favorite,
And even though I complained,
I liked the way it burned
And left my tongue a little numb
For the rest of the day.
The teachers don’t hand out snacks anymore.
People say that I’m old enough now,
To take care of myself.
My tongue still ends up a little raw,
From, acidic orange juice,
And hot cocoa in the evenings,
Then pressed against my sharp teeth,
Tracing my mamelons.
