'Nabs'

Nabs

Each time I open a package of the hazard-orange crackers,

I think first of my mother, Doris, who called them “Nabs,”

And then of myself as a college freshman between classes,

Feeding a vending machine. My wife says food that color

Must be toxic. Now, it’s mother-in-law Mary with snacks

Fit for a brown bag, school lunch box, day camp pack:

My sorry choice, wrapped in cellophane maybe weeks ago,

Loud like Longhorn Cheddar, glazed with peanut butter.

I chomp on what I shouldn’t want, as stubborn as my dad,

Who refused to see a dentist until he didn’t need his teeth.


At the link, what’s this about?

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Web images of products courtesy of www.picswe

Web images of products courtesy of www.picswe