I see an ocean of mustard
Extending beyond the horizon.
Scattered about by Spaniards
Marking their way north,
Hoping to find a better life.
Maybe that explains
The countless jars
Cluttering my fridge,
Some arriving recently
Others, only God knows.
My wife calls out:
“We have mustard!”
As I head for the store
Wanting to buy more,
But knowing we have
Enough already.
This article appears in The Money, The Future, The Vote.