'scream

oh what I’d do for a true treat tonight, a bowl
heaping of paradise so sweet, sure as gelato is
not jello we do love our ice cream,

I’d run nude down the skinny black alley in
chilly night air, sing rowdy Autumn songs from
the thick depths of my long-hungry lungs, lift

you tottering in pure lusty triumph above the
chintzy 7-11 sign flashing while fire engines
across 25th start their wake up the dowdy
neighbors to scream in raucous language of siren,

then with frosty brown bag in cold hands we'd
skip down the sidewalk in late darkness towards
twin spoons of well-used cool silver which
nuzzle pillows of sticky caramel and hot
tempting rivers of soft lava fudge,

now, such plenty awaits our pink greedy
tongues, ready mouths water and smile
in feigned patience as you grinning shout
'go' and finally I dish up this treasure, as
we in full gladness thank the fat dessert gods
winking below.