Come, eschew the myth
of Dionysus,
the cafe with jazz aged
aperitif,
give me ice cream
to stimulate my spirits,
and a parlour guitar,
not bitter liqueur,
for my digestif.
Yes, let Bacchus
and his buddies
revel with the devil,
give me chocolate
raspberry swirl.
Don’t say, “Out of peaches
‘n cream, try a frosty
fruity pilsner.”
Ok, bait and switch,
if you can add a scoop,
please, and make it float.
The evening passes slowly
amidst dark cans clatched
down the dry alley where
sleeps Suzy with Sobrius.
The Coming of the Toads 