Nobody’s faster at chocolate milk sipping than grandpa…
Each week The Sunday Whirl invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “Wordle’s” 12 words. This week it is:
I used to be a champion at speed sipping
chocolate milk through a straw.
I liked the old paper straws, the ones with red and white stripes that
twisted round each other. The plastic ones with the large
roller coaster loops were fun to watch, but took too much time.
The chocolate flew up-side-down and loop-de-looped wildly until I got yelled at
by ma to stop playing with my drink. I hated the ones with the
crinkled neck that you could bend in all directions to fit the angle
of your mouth. The crick-crick-crick of that articulation,
like a transit bus bending round a corner, was as bad as my friend Santos cracking
his knuckles on each fist, one-at-a-time.
I decide to challenge my grandson to a sipping contest
while we are chowing down on burgers and a basket of fries.
Under the guise of having been the best sipper when I was his age,
I boast that like a knight of old, I could smite the best chocolate milk suckers
as if I was dispensing deplorable jousters at a spring tourney.
Huh? Is his response. What are you saying, grandpa?
Never you mind, I say. Do you dare try to rise to the challenge?
And in the end writhe in the fire of chocolate milk despair?
I don’t understand a word, grandpa, but yeah, I’m ready.
His little face aglow with anticipation.
Then let us dye our lips, I cry, with that sweet brown substance,
and pointing heaven-ward I finish with,
May the gods of yore smile upon us both.
Oh, grandpa. Just start sipping and get ready to lose.
I raise a gray and hairy eyebrow towards him, smile, and purse my lips.