Ode To Milk

Ashley Kolb

We were never meant to correlate, but merely coexist.

You never kept me satisfied,

you never tasted quite right.

For we were always

bound to grow apart,

milk.

And as you curdled at the bottom of the jug,

my stomach screamed in protest.

The first time you showed me

how your true colors could tint your whiteness,

I had to call it quits.

I never liked your sour displacement.

Sure, we tried to get along when I was young

and knew no other beverage.

We tried to plug our noses and wash each other down

with squelches and squinting eyes.

But as you dissolved my breakfast cereal

—a feat you accomplished so fast that I had to commend your authority—

I wondered if no friendship at all

was better than a soggy one.