Bag of ice

My hard boiled eggs

Are not the same without you peeling them

I can’t pretend I make them the same

You need my ice

I have so many gallon ziplock bags

Waiting to be filled, waiting to be filled

I’ll pack my cooler

I have my wagon

I’ll rub your back

When I get to you

You make the chow mien

I’ll make the Birria

We can have a potluck even if it’s just us

I won’t make it too spicy, too spicy

So I’ll pack my cooler

I’ll have my wagon

I’ll rub your back

When I get to you

If you let me come to you

Don’t lock your door and ignore me

Don’t block me once again

If anything we can be friends