RC Cola

Nobody told me we were poor—
generic was name brand and Aldi
brand was generic. Our cereal came in
bags, and it was my job to pour the
sugar flakes into the plastic containers at home.
We'd get out the fancy calculator with the
waxy paper roll and pretend to
ring up all the groceries again while we
unpacked, scanning each barcode across
the green laminate peninsula, talking
in grown-up voices and calling for
cleanups on aisle 3.
Eventually the game got old and so
did the co-workers so they all went
to their rooms and future lives and
I still had to fill up the pantry, take the
frozen pizzas out to the garage fridge, crumple up
the plastic bags and shove them into the
bigger plastic bag.
The food got less bulk and less generic and now
my co-workers come visit and tease
me for the Pepsi I get to drink, but
I don't think they realize
how much I would rather be
back at that green peninsula
drinking RC Cola.

Madeline Hynes is relatively new to the poetry world. She recently left her job as a technical engineer at a software company to pursue writing full-time. Madeline grew up on a farm in Iowa, but now lives in Charleston with her husband, Alec, and their dog, Betty.