Lozenged Love

On that rain swept day turning from the ATM Strepsils in my tongue rolling I manifested that boy from our school science fair who had braved our convent-bred meanness with his rhyming ink gurgling in my throat which I gulped whole with the lemon lozenge. I grinned with the hard deposit choking my chest taut, which his libertine mistook for my coy fortitude, Asked if I’d like to grab some coffee, the weather playing perfect ploy? My veto slipped by that sweet soothing pill weighing my guts down further by an inch. We were asked to move from blocking the way, as he began tallying his balance sheet of success indexed by a Merc keyring spinning on his finger, with excitement compounding and his eyes that blinked— Ka-ching! Ka-ching! How could I stomach this fast-acting pill, I thought shining translucent, reduced thrice small? But now the hesitation in my throat was cleared as I fumbled to find back my loyalty in words. So at last when he insisted I must have something to say, I popped that one question burning within me since juvenile years: “Do gulped down lozenges grow trees from the ears?”