Peppermint Ice

Your mother is a uniform
Hanging on the bathroom door
Your father fertilized her garden
Never seen again
We eat peppermint ice
From the freezer
We stare at our forks
We use our forks
The forks are cold
The illuminated hands
Haven’t moved on your microwave clock
I notice your microwave has a clock with HANDS
This brings us back to the bathroom door
The uniform wiggles
The door moves
Peppermint ice dribbles out
The corner of your mouth
Then the shape of a woman
Backlit by the bathroom light
Could be mistaken for
Your mother
We stare at the mother shape
We use our forks
Our forks are cold
The microwave clock hands move
I slide my fork into your sink
You throw your head back
Mouth open wide
Peppermint ice slides over your tongue
Down your throat
Your mother is a uniform
Your father
A thing of the past
Call me
You say
As I slip like peppermint ice
Out the back door


6 thoughts on “Peppermint Ice

  1. Had not before considered that ice cream is a product of the technological system I deplore. How much debauchery will my sense of purity endure for ice cream? I think this here poem gets at just how much a lot. Yup. You are working these out like some model Ford employee, but with pre-Prius Toyota precision and and custom style. Maybe if I talked politics with you a bit now we could disagree some (so I don’t feel like I’m kissing your ass), butyou are the Straight V8 of Verse here lately.


  2. this is s a comment where I say “i thought this poem was all about sex” because I don’t know what else to say.
    for some reason I find it very sexy and very disturbing.

    for some reason, in my mind, peppermint ice is replaced with “burning mucous”.

    … just re-read it, with this replacement in mind,
    and it opened up the rest of the words for me.
    Now I guess it seems more like a first impression memory. painful.


    • Membranes first cooled then burnt with a creamy finish, and it all started inside your Mother’s uniform. My trailer has no back door, no guests, and I am happy there.


  3. I am looking out my window at the stormy Pacific Ocean and reading your amazing poetry. Your words come crashing just like the waves I see pounding onto the beach. Don’t ever let life or sadness or disappointment stop you from writing–you have so much inside you to say and share.


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