Ice Creamery

The sun a mini strawberry delight
in a field of vanilla smoke tonight
as it falls into a debauchery of ice
creamery I dive under a tsunami
of chocolatey covered cherries
the size of bowling balls while
this reverse osmosis produces
a raspberry spearmint julep
which is to say hold the bourbon
and bring on the rosewater
of camphor lime and take away
the six pack of IPA and keep the
ice cream coming in this the
ice creamery bathtub of sobriety.

Come, eschew the myth

Come, eschew the myth
of Dionysus,
the cafe with jazz aged
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.