Juice

We didn’t argue over whether it was resin or sap, and
readily agreed it was the juice in mowed grass that wafted
its aroma through the open car like that of those cut trees.
Perhaps when there is less language rearing its myriad
heads, resolution articulates itself with ease. Is that a lesson
in diplomacy: driving arguments around with the top down,
letting the breeze wrap it all up in a shared olfactory embrace,
limiting the words to two or only the one with which
like-minded people have the capacity to agree? Of course not.
Some pedant will tell you all about green leaf volatiles and
ruin even that moment of casual linguistic harmony. And once
this genie is out, we will have war over hydrocarbon secretion
rather than poetic solutions like the amber glob or sappy jewel
and worse, wait for the science of curt abbreviations like GLVs.

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