Dean slipped me words
on a folded sheet of paper.


It all started harmlessly enough,
at the age of four or five, I suppose.
The age when there is nothing sinister
about a total stranger
dropping artificial vegetables
into your out-stretched pillow-case
while you coyly hide your identity.

It’s ‘All Hallows Eve’
…and  YES, I’m talking about Candy Corn.
Just talking about it makes me weak.

It’s nobody’s fault, you see.
Parents didn’t know the danger
of the little triangles,
cleverly colored yellow, orange and white.
So real.
But better!

In moderation
I was able to walk away.
Then I found myself
shamelessly trading
my best “fun size” candy bars –
Just to get a taste of the corn, Man.

Friends, over the years. they knew!
They smelled the corn on my breath!
But you just can’t talk sense
to a user of the cob.

My name is Dean.
…and I eat Candy Corn.

…it’s gonna be okay.



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