Whiz

"Whip" it proclaims.
The container I hold looks like Cheez Whiz 
got in an entanglement with Reddi Wip, 
who brought along for the adventure 
a 1980s bottle of Hawaiian Tropic SPF 4 tanning oil.

The cannister transports me to my childhood
and I am helping myself to an extra circle 
of sweetened cream on my Thanksgiving pumpkin pie.

I wonder if this product, left alone
in a mud room or on a kitchen island would be 
mistaken for The Real Thing, 
like Coke, the Classic one, not the New one.

I close my eyes and see a sly young one 
or a vision-blurred elder see this can
alone on a counter and think, 
"I can take one puff, 
one whiz of the nozzle, 
and make my day better."

And this thought permeates my mouth, 
my nose my lungs with the taste of Banana Boat
and I am eight and my mom is rubbing my back 
with thick pale yellow SPF 15 lotion 
and I am saying 
"MomMomMom stahhppp" 
And she is telling me to:
"holdstillIneedtodoyourbackandthenyoursister's!" 

The chemicals linger 
in my nasal passage
and coat my tongue 
and seep into my swim suit
like Parkay 
on Kings Hawaiian buns.

And now I'm back in the mall
holding this pressurized sunblock
which boasts a "tilt valve actuator"
and can be mine for the low, low cost 
of twenty-two dollars 
"before shipping and handling"
my mind adds.

I treat the gimmicky goo 
like the cultural zeitgeist it's going for: 
a tourist trap.
So, I snap a photo, 
for my neon hued scrapbook, 
and put it Right Back Down, 
like my mother would have commanded.