8 year old me yearned for a 

Whadda gum pack 

of the most erupting soda flavor

after a tedious school day. 

Five tickets to the room full 

of sweet and bursting, 

azure tinted gum harmoniously 

mingled with bits of 

soda-flavored rock candy.

randomly stuck in. 

All this fantasy, so distant from 

my wonted school-life lasted 

a whopping one-hour journey. 

But you didn’t hear the best part yet:

It’s only 50 cents…! 

I remember leaving 50 cents 

on top of the counter

when the cashier was vacant 

maybe for a bathroom break,

maybe for a quick call to his mom.

Then, I swiftly exited the store until 

that b*stard caught me with his 

steaming eyes, charging me with 

all the guilt in the world, ready to

admonish...no, ready to chastise me. 

But that soon vanished like a kitty in the dark 

when I silently pointed my fingers to the gleaming 

silver coin, probably fresh out of the mint, 

ready to free me from blame.

18 year old me, until this day, 

feels sorry and somewhat odd.

But somewhere I still hear 

8 year old me telling me 

not to feel guilty.