I have this thing, you know. <br />Passed down and caught <br />and chained to it as well. <br /> <br />Hands must be clean <br />and hair brushed straight <br />so that each one will be <br />quite equidistant from its mates. <br /> <br />Shoes always rest in parallel, <br />one must be certain about symmetry. <br />Thus, it is no surprise to me <br />and those who walk with me <br />that I detest the smallest dropp <br />of stickiness, or damp upon the skin, <br />be that on legs or more protected parts. <br /> <br />She'd half expected me to use the time <br />to cuddle or tell old time tales, <br />though I was quite pre-occupied. <br /> <br />It would, I had observed it once, <br />dry on its own and fade away, <br />seemingly into open space <br />from a forbidden zone at that. <br /> <br />There was, inside my mind, no qualm <br />with the logistics of the chemistry, <br />that would be tied to certain laws, <br />as legs support a living body <br />and hair allows for steam and turbulence. <br /> <br />Yet, nothing realistic had prepared <br />this greenhorn for the lengthy interval <br />that sticky residue would make <br />its awful presence felt, I shudder <br />at the very thought and see, today <br />the eyes of grandma, stoic, green and stern, <br />unspoken words commanding me, <br />belligerence inside the lederhosen <br />the Edelweiss, seal of a secret room <br />a leather flap now standing guard <br />for petty jewels with early hopes. <br /> <br />The pie itself was of the noblest kind, <br />with layers of pink flowers and cold cream, <br />it was the sugar, it would stick against all rules <br />for little boys and, so much later, for some fools.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sweetness-is-stickiness/
