Melt­ing Vanilla He­roes


Room Magazine - - HA | MY NAME IS A TYPO -

We’re search­ing for a spot to lend our horses, vanilla and plas­tic bugs. Yes, maybe mainly, our plas­tic bugs.

Do you be­lieve we can lend vanilla to the trees in Trin­ity Bell­wood Park, so in re­turn they’ll wa­ter us with some rest?

We are the ex­change kings, not mer­chants, of Queen Street West. If you can­not see it, it's just be­cause pu­berty’s sun had melted on us too quickly.

That's what made us un­pre­pared for find­ing a shel­ter.

There’s a ru­mor that storms al­ways come, even­tu­ally.

We can­not af­ford to keep in­dulging our­selves in mo­not­o­nous walks up and down our Queen.

We must not avoid the kiosk there, with the sign stat­ing:

“A Cen­tre for Men­tal Health and Ad­dic­tions.”

“We don’t even get how men­tal health can go with ad­dic­tions.”

But we do know, there’s a rea­son for the words “cen­tre” and “shel­ter”

to rhyme.

We know they tickle our tongues and crowns when­ever we pass it by.

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