Shiny Disposition

There was a time that every man,
woman, and child was in possession
of Vaseline.

A small tube played
something borrowed
and something blue
for a wedding or two.

Would you like to kiss the Bride?

Every home had a giant tub.
Every woman had a canister in her purse.
Every man had one in his glove compartment
or stuff under the seat.

When a parent packed up a kid
to send her off
to who knows where,
a plastic can of wonder goo
followed loyally in the luggage.

We used to put Vaseline on everything.

It shined shoes, polished car tires,
waterproofed the glass and the chrome.
Used in one way or another
at school or in the home.

Raise your hand
if you leaned
on a guy's car
as he carefully rubbed
a dab of Vaseline
onto the windshield
so the rainwater would bead.

Vaseline kept debris
out of our wounds.

We slathered it on our lips
often for no apparent reason
except to shine off on our friends.

No more of Mama's spit for cowlicks,
she used Vaseline to hold unruly hairs in place.

A light coat of Vaseline dusted the furniture.

For years, no one griped at Hubby
for not using a coaster.

No ring? No problem.

As America enters its austerity plan,
let's get back to basics--
reconnect with Vaseline,
our old family friend.