It’s a classic, chocolate cake with white frosting.
It’s a classic, fried lake perch with tartar sauce.
It’s a classic, the willow tree getting struck by lightning,
dripping sparks. It’s a classic, Twilight Zone
in a darkened room, waiting for Rod Serling to pop out.
It’s a classic, popcorn and Twizzlers during a movie.
It’s a classic, the time I tried to clean my scraped knee
with Dr Pepper at a drive-in, already anachronistic,
in Dayton, Ohio, before we moved away. It’s a classic,
a moving van in the driveway, all your board games
taped shut so they’ll never be the same, Col. Mustard,
Miss Scarlet. It’s a classic, her long cigarette,
her eyes through brown tape that can’t be removed.
From a prompt at NaPoWriMo.net.