I never drank Mountain Dew
until you swore it was the beverage of the gods
and I’d die if I went another minute
without chugging an icy cold glass.
I never watched professional soccer
until you forced me to endure game after game
as you gave me back rubs on your cold basement floor.
I never listened to underground punk or ska
until we drove with the top down
and blasted The Indecisives through your dad’s fifteen-hundred-dollar sound system.
So I’m sitting here sipping my daily dose of sweetened caffeine
with the afternoon soccer game on mute
so I can hear my new Mustard Plug CD flowing from the speakers,
thinking about how I like you in a way
that has nothing to do with soda.