LENAY FOR AUGUST

Trying to eat my licorice slowly,

Paying attention to the muscle-y

Strength of flavor filing itself

In my many taste buds, middle shelf

I’m alone usually in my adoration

Of the salt, sugar and spices shunned

Honestly, more for me, and I

Don’t even mind if black

Dyes

My tongue and sticks between

My teeth, more for me, the theme.

Black licorice whips are my birthday

My grandfather, my son, too, and today

Licorice drops tell me that I

Am loved when I find one

Lies

On the plate, when I thought

I was done, and that I am taught.