Poetry: Ice Cream

Hey guys. I tried my hand at some poetry. School’s been crazy so I haven’t had much time to write, but this needed to be written.

Don’t read anything into my totally literal poem about ice cream.

Yeah, okay. Hope you like it.

pic credit: Alexandra Penfold (then edited)

Ice Cream

I’ve already scooped myself

A full bowl of the ice cream

And eaten half of it in

Hungry

Desperate bites

Before the flavor hits my tongue

Flashing lights!

Sending a sprinting signal,

Neurons scrambling to tell me:

This doesn’t taste good anymore

 

Teeth and tongue painted blue

Aren’t cute anymore

And I drag my lips tight over them

Hiding them

 

Why does it have to turn my tongue blue?

(Has it always done that?)

Why is it so sickeningly sweet?

(Did I just never notice it?)

And why do the little bits

Have to get stuck in my teeth?

(Does anyone actually enjoy that?)

 

Smaller bites now

My tongue curls

Lips pucker

My brain shouts

I don’t like this

I don’t want this—

This isn’t fun anymore

 

But I can’t throw it away

Not after I filled a whole bowl

Not while I can still remember

What the flavor used to

Taste like

 

On summer days

Everything was simple

And a taste of that ice cream

Made the afternoon right

Our blue tongues to better rattle off the hours with

 

Why can’t I just fall in love

(With a flavor)

And stay that way?

Why do little things

Blue, sweet, sticky things—

Always crowd out

The way it used to make

me feel?

 

The ice cream melts

And I set the bowl down

Decisive

I’m done

But the slurry spills over

Onto my hand

Painted blue

That’s sticky now

 

What’s the point

Of going back to the shop

And tasting all the flavors

And finding a new favorite

And buying enough to fill my freezer

So I’ll never have to go without

(Because this time will be different)

When I know what will happen

Like it happened last time

Like it happened before that time

What will always happen

 

But it’s summer again

Hot afternoons

Unbearable

Without a new taste

To occupy my thoughts

 

Back to the counter then

I guess it’s a good thing

They have thirty-one

I’ll try that one

On the left

In a cone

I point

With my hand still sticky

From the last flavor I ate