Laissez-Faire

by V. Bray

In the red vinyl booth bench,

I empty the metal rack on the Formica table.

My parents ignore my obsession, 

too focused on Reagan’s laissez-faire economics

blasting on the TV mounted above.

I lick the imitation of oranges: 

marmalade in 

round plastic containers

tiny packages of sweet fruit

brightly illustrated on the label. 

The grape jelly always disappears first,

then the strawberry.

I count through my treasures

hunting a unique flavor

to add to my collection box

of feathers, shells, pressed leaves.

Mint and apple are novelties

tucked into my pockets

held against their will until

the corn sugar,  

thinning to liquid,

seeps through the fabric 

of my ripped jeans.

We drive home full of hot buttered toast, 

runny eggs, and crisped bacon.

The front door shines in the mid-morning sun,

as my parents go in, clicking it shut,

leaving me outside

when the wasps descend.

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V. Bray has been a writer since childhood and still has a box filled with her first “books,” usually illustrated with markers and bound with yarn. She writes in many genres, from speculative and historical fiction to poetry. Her work has been published in About Place Journal, Halfway Down the Stairs, Multiplicity Magazine, and The Writer. Learn more at authorvbray.com. 

Photo by Hans Vivek on Unsplash