A poem for Pilk (pepsi milk)
The Mormons did not cook with you,
You curdle and foam,
Itching like my insides,
To get out, to run,
To scream, to burble and play
Your milk is trapped within
Your bubbles, like fish eggs,
Hatching,
Hatching,
Hatching,
They swim, they jump, but I,
I'm still
Trapped
In-
side











