Seltzer Bottles

I often pass a window
Near the street where I reside,
And glancing at it, visions of my past
It does provide.

For it contains two seltzer bottles,
Spritzers facing in.
I wonder if my childhood home
Is one place they have been.

For growing up in Brooklyn,
Seltzer bottles we would get,
Delivered in a wooden box,
Along with one U-Bet.

To make a perfect egg cream,
You put U-Bet in a glass.
Your mom said, “Just a little!”
An amount you would surpass.

On top of all that syrup,
You’d add milk, but just a splash.
Then you’d squirt the seltzer in
And mix it in a flash.

Voila! The bubbles burbled as
From bottom up they rose;
And as you sipped, you always got
A tickle on your nose.

The seltzer in the stores now
Doesn’t have that wicked squirt.
If you could taste the difference,
Why, I’m sure you would convert.

So when I see those bottles,
I begin to reminisce;
And seltzer joins the list of things
From childhood that I miss.


(Note: This poem appeared in The New York Times
on Sunday, October 23rd, but has not appeared here before.)