No Other Brand
Right next to the spices
a young girl my age,
yellow bobby socks,
ribboned golden ponytails
and matching yellow dress.
It’s short, exposing her
white legs past mid thigh.
The Morton Salt Girl.
Holding an umbrella in one hand
it’s raining, a package of salt
in the other. The spout is open
and the salt is running out.
Oh, how she looked at me.
Started by help Mom in her baking;
any excuse to go to the pantry.
Mother had no idea why.
I called her Betty
after a girl on the block.
We spent a lot of time together
gazing at each other not speaking.
By Dayl Wise
(From lifeblood: woodstock poetry society anthology, edited by Trina Porte, Chickaree Press. Dayl Wise is the publisher of Post Traumatic Press in Woodstock.)
