Bubble Rap
Melissa Balmain

Inspired by real events in 1977

Jeannie and Jill had shiny hair—

Parted, down-to-their-heinie hair,

And perfect clogs and bell-bottom cords,

And abdomens as flat as boards,

And dangly earrings and endless supplies

Of friends to go out with for Burger King fries.

And on her birthday—I was struck dumb!—

Jill got a house made of Bubble Yum.

A Bubble Yum house. A Bubble Yum house.

A stacks-of-packs-of-Bubble-Yum house.

Jeannie had built it; it was 12 inches high.
Jill brought it to school so we all could sigh.

Even our teacher, Mrs. Zabel,

Admired each Grape and Original gable.

Later that day on the playground grass

Jill divvied up the house with half our class

While the rest of us stood there, feeling glum

’Cause we didn’t rate a pack of Bubble Yum.

A Bubble Yum house. A Bubble Yum house.

Jill flaunted, I wanted, a Bubble Yum house.

My hair was too short and my pants too long;

No clogs for me (Mom’s aversion was strong—

Same deal with earrings) and I wasn’t blessed

With abs even half as flat as my chest.

Burger King fries? They were allowed,

But I wasn’t part of the popular crowd.

So I saved my allowance, every crumb,

To buy me a heap of Bubble Yum.

A Bubble Yum house. A Bubble Yum house.

I’d be cool as a pool with a Bubble Yum house.

The weeks crept by; at the corner store

I bought 10 packs, then 10 packs more:

I was getting close, despite ’70s inflation,

To tasty walls and a sweet foundation.

When I bragged to a buddy, she stared at her shoes:

Hadn’t I heard the latest news?

Nobody cool still chewed that gum—

There were spider eggs in Bubble Yum.

A Bubble Yum house. A Bubble Yum house.

No preteen could be seen with a Bubble Yum house.

O cruel fate! Though riddled with doubt,

I threw every pack of my Bubble Yum out—

Just before the claims of spider eggs

Were proven to have zero legs.

The decades flew. Can’t chew gum today

If I don’t want to aggravate my TMJ,

And yet… now and then, I still succumb

To visions of a house of Bubble Yum.

A Bubble Yum house. A Bubble Yum house.

A double-yum, no-trouble-yum, Bubble Yum house.

When I die, I expect my kids and spouse
To bury me in a Bubble Yum house.

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Melissa’s notes: “Names have been changed to protect the previously pubescent.”

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Melissa Balmain edits Light, North America’s longest-running journal of comic verse, and teaches writing at the University of Rochester. Her poems and/or prose have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Ecotone, The Hopkins Review, Lighten Up Online, Literary Matters, McSweeney’s, The New Yorker, The New York Times, Nimrod, Poetry Daily, and Rattle. Her latest book of poetry is Satan Talks to His Therapist (Paul Dry Books).

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Bubble Rap Melissa Balmain

Bubble Rap
Melissa Balmain