My own ambrosia is not a rosy red nectar, but it sure does pick me up, gives me strength and even wings to fly through the day.
The Caribbean nectar given to me in a jaro (tincup) as a child with milk served with toast or warm bread from Kenny bakery.
Teachers would get upset at my non-nutritional breakfast of choice,
but it kept me alert in class until recess.
A plain glass of milk was the daily recommendation. Did I look like a feeble new born?
As child, teenager, college student and now as an adult my sweet black ambrosia is the nectar given to us by the gods of yesteryear.
Can’t pass my local bodega without stopping by to pick up my large clarito with two sugars or on a busy explosive day sweet strong and black like I like my man.
Oh what is it that Bustelo has done to me that Maxwell’s House doesn’t even tickle my fancy.
Upon reaching my 80’s I’ll sit in my comfy rocking chair contemplating my life with a steaming hot jaro of my sweet black ambrosia, just before I get going.
I must always take time to breathe and enjoy my sweet black ambrosia.