Parosmia
Parosmia
Sick as a boy and suddenly
Frosted Flakes tasted like soap.
I sniffed at the cereal cupped
In my hand, convinced that
Instead of sugar it had been run
Through vats of detergent,
Then spread out on screens to dry.
And though I didn’t see soap
Listed in the ingredients,
And though my brothers ate
Their bowls as numbly as heifers
Nosing silage at the trough,
And though Tony the Tiger grrr’d
At me from the side of the box,
Insisting they were great,
Nothing could convince me that
There wasn’t soap in my cereal.