While waiting for the bus to come,
I expected no more than dried squid
Maybe a mushroom or two
So when I saw the row of airtight plastic bags
I knew I would buy one of them.
You were pink
“Marshmallow,” you said.
Then you said your name, spelled in pink Japanese katakana letters, “Mashiyumaro.”
“Let’s enjoy the new marshmallow generation!!” you exclaimed in English.
“Let’s,” I thought. Without thinking more
I picked you up and continued down the row
Orange-creme marshmallow hamburgers
held no mystery for me.
Even a huge bag of individually-wrapped marshmallows shaped like
kitty faces was not tempting.
A woman beckoned me to her cash register
“$1.25,” she typed out the numbers
I marveled at your low price,
paid, left the store, and ripped the bag open on my way up the street
Never had I tasted such sweet mallow divination
As when you touched my lips.
I looked at you again, whirls of
pink yellow orange and white
twisted together into a perfectly-sized snack
each color equally creamy and fluffy on the inside.
Your sugar fairy dust
tickled my nose before I devoured you.
Your sweetness is unrivaled in any of the---dare they call themselves---
Marshmallows I have tasted before
And, Mashiyumaro, my love, there have been many.
I want to fill my whole soul with your angelic sweetness
But I want to consume you slowly so that your supply lasts.
My heart runneth over with love for you, Mashiyumaro
Every marshmallow should strive to reach the perfection that your
pink yellow orange and white
self emulates
But all I really care about is that you and I enjoy “the new marshmallow generation!!”
together
(c) 2006 SB
