I slid my fore finger along the underbelly
of the decaying playground picnic table,
the one underneath the atrophic ozone
underneath the Henny Penny sky
the one underneath the afflicted ash
and felt a moist squishy blob of chewing gum.
I slid my fore finger along the underbelly
of the decaying playground picnic table,
felt the goo
and suddenly noticed the seasoning leaves,
was rekindled by the sun,
and regained my appetite for the spice of change.
