(Poem 363 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

Grandad has a Mini Coke
when he’s craving a soda,
but isn’t really supposed
to be drinking sugary drinks
because he’s diabetic.

They are the perfect size
for Julian, if he’s been granted
permission by his mom
because it is early enough
in the day, he’s eaten real
food, and he’s already had
some water—basically the
stars have aligned and a
sugar bomb is allowed.

But for me, it does not hit
the spot. I feel like Hulk in
that commercial where he
and Ant Man are fighting
over the last Coke and, of
course, they end up sharing
because Ant Man only needs
a drop to be satisfied, but
poor Hulk gets the equivalent
of a thimble full to drink.
What the heck? He needs
a 10-gallon drum of Coke
to quench his thirst.

That’s how silly I feel
drinking a Mini Coke.

@Home Studio – 363rd poem of the year

Runner ups for the Mini Coke photos to accompany my poem: