"custard" poems
In frames as large as rooms that face all ways
And block the ends of streets with giant loaves,
Screen graves with custard, cover slums with praise
Of motor-oil and cuts of salmon, shine
Perpetually these sharply-pictured groves
Of how life should be. High above the gutter
A silver knife sinks into golden butter,
A glass of milk stands in a meadow, and
Well-balanced families, in fine
Midsummer weather, owe their smiles, their cars,
Even their youth, to that small cube each hand
Stretches towards. These, and the deep armchairs
Aligned to cups at bedtime, radiant bars
(Gas or electric), quarter-profile cats
By slippers on warm mats,
Reflect none of the rained-on streets and squares
They dominate outdoors. Rather, they rise
Serenely to proclaim pure crust, pure foam,
Pure coldness to our live imperfect eyes
That stare beyond this world, where nothing's made
As new or washed quite clean, seeking the home
All such inhabit. There, dark raftered pubs
Are filled with white-clothed ones from tennis-clubs,
And the boy puking his heart out in the Gents
Just missed them, as the pensioner paid
A halfpenny more for Granny Graveclothes' Tea
To taste old age, and dying smokers sense
Walking towards them through some dappled park
As if on water that unfocused she
No match lit up, nor drag ever brought near,
Who now stands newly clear,
Smiling, and recognising, and going dark.
18k
Brown sugar sapotas
Blending with custard alfonso mangos
And bold sweet lime juice
Georgette saris
Pairing with uncut diamond necklaces
Mixed with peals and rubies
Gently sloping palm trees
Swaying in balmy sultry air
And hazy golden sunsets
Frenetic yellow autos
Competing with dusty zipping mopeds
Mixed with ambulating pedestrians
Aromas of cumin
Blending with the sewage
Other times with incense
Glows of brass oil lamps
Singing in hums of prayer
Added with turmeric's incantations
Brightly-patterned salwars
Accentuating gemstone bindis
Comfy fitted leggings
Savory masala dosas
Coupling coconut chutney
Meter-high filter coffee
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:17 AM UTC
The chocolate digestive is a marvel of invention
Custard creams are sickly, but worthy of a mention
Shortbread can be gritty, steer clear of the cheap ones
For if you love your biscuits, your pockets must be deep ones
For perfect dunkability, the hobnob leads the field
But prone to going chewy if their packet isn't sealed
Bourbon creams can satisfy when nothing else is offered
Avert your eyes from pretzels, no matter how they're proffered
The lowly Garibaldi is an underrated treasure
A macaroon is excellent for eating at your leisure
Enjoy the home made cookies and the chocolate crispy nests
And save a pack of party rings for fobbing off on guests
But biscuits can be functional, with keen survival craft
A packet of pink wafers can be used to make a raft
Penguins can be hollowed out and used to smuggle crack
And if you throw a ginger nut, you'll always get it back
A Jaffa cake is handy as a snowboard for a spider
And flapjacks are a sustenance and energy provider
Wagon wheels are lethal when they're wielded by a ninja
Brandy snaps cure cancer with a tiny hint of ginger
Experiment with biscuits, they're a versatile thing
Try horizontal dunking or the highland shortbread fling
Keep a packet stashed away for when the end is nigh
And always have the kettle full, and milk in good supply
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
I remember Sunday dinner
that granny used to make
enough to feed an army
piled on each and every plate
three kinds of potatoes
boiled, mashed and roast
Chicken, pork & roast beef
and a glass of wine to toast
and veggies from her garden
that grew right there herself
no canned corn from Guatemala
would you find upon her shelf
there'd be carrots, peas and parnips
brocolli & cabbage too
and anything that wasn't ate
ended up in her famous stew
but desserts, they were the best bit
there was custard, pies and tarts
an the only bad thing 'bout it all
was knowing where to start
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 7:26 PM UTC
fat kid, oh fat jkid, oh where are you fat kid
i am really fat kid, full of muscles ya see
i love cream buns, ****** oath i am a big big big big man
what do ya think about that, puny little cool kid
i love my beautiful spring rolls as well as a coca cola to wash it down with
that is mighty fine, oh yeah
and the kids went up to me, and said fat kid fat kid fat kid, you are a fat kid
i said, i am not a kid, for i am an adult, who lives life like it’s one big adventure after the next
as i said, i am known as the fat kid, the really big fat kid
i love spring rolls, cream buns, and a coca cola
and i love lamingtons, as well, and i love meat pies and sausage rolls
which makes me a real australian ***** ****
and a custard **** i can lick the fat right off that
and the voice came from out of the blue
fat kid fat kid, you are a fat kid, and another voice says
your not an adult, adults are cool, and i said, i am cool on the computer, ****
and then i said, i am so an adult, a creative adult, a good fooler\
i try to be a cool kid, to gain protection, but reality i am a cool adult
and i don’t appreciate being treated like a fat kid
i am a cool adult who loves to PARTY
an adult PARTY dude so to speak
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
chocolate fireguard, teapot,
or fender, icecream sofa, dry sea
or wet towel, glass hammer,
waterproof teabag, newspaper
raincoat and umbrella, lead parachute, ashtray on a motorbike,
handbrake on a canoe,
vote in a dictatorship,
loudhailer to a deaf mute,
grief at a wedding,
****** in a monastery.
inflatable dartboard,
spoon in a knife-fight,
screen door on a submarine,
wooden soap, shortbread tires,
knitted light bulb,
bread boat, plasticine wire cutters,
paper hole punch, water hat,
custard floorboards,
ceiling tiles made of gravy,
portrait of a bowl of soup,
a stone cigarette,
syrup knickers, hole in my bucket,
plastic oven, wax truss,
liquorice bridge,
false teeth made of soap,
lemonade roof,
jelly boots,
jam cardigan,
paper bicycle pump,
ice-cream saucepans,
soluble drain pipe,
packet of rubber nails,
see-through mirror,
revolving basement restaurant
roll-on hairspray, rubber pencil,
****** with a hole in it,
limp **** pockets on a lettuce,
**** on a fish, lolly pop van in Hell,
one-legged man in an ****
kicking competition,
meaningless life,
unnecessary death,
forgotten words and deeds,
ignored needs,
this poem.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Puds are long, vanilla rich
Custard honey-sweet
Poured down from the liquid sun
Caramelised crust
turns nut-brown
and bubbling
Spoon!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 9:13 AM UTC
Scandinavian badger sitting in the tree, I can't believe we met, it must be desti-ny.
I look up to the sky and see two clouds fighting, for some unusual reason I don't find it frightening.
Instead as I look up at the angry cloud, all I feel is proud, that its even aloud that this fluffy white sky sheep can be so well endowed.
With all the strength I can muster, I swim thru the lake of custard.
There I meet a female goat- "I'll clean all your biscuits if you just share your picnic"?
"I wish I could but I don't think I can risk it".
As I approach the shore, I meet a male horse. He says he's having a mare.
I don't know whether to commiserate or congratulate. I stroll off wandering what he meant and if I even care
I meet a male cow, or am I talking bull?
Who knows if half this story is even a quarter true.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Amen for the chocolate cake that melts and oozes gooey goodness in the warm custard
Amen for the rich taste of the moist soft sponge
Amen for birthdays and anniversary's
And all the excuses
Amen for the most enticing smell
Amen to not resisting temptations
Amen to diets meant to be broken
Amen for powerful combinations
Like cake and ice cream
Cake and custard
Cake and coffee
Cake and tea
Amen to icing and buttercream
Amen for cake
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
clanking clank slurp, ka-boom
the slop runs down a throat
merrily merrily terribly chilled
the gunk rolls down a throat.
the
forks spoons knives
plates salts salads
and wines
ding and echo like
soft butterfly tea parties
all gone rabid.
throughout the walls of pictures of food
and the butterfly echos echo
and dinging cups splash
and forks click and clock
(and and,..and!)
hold my breath.
clanking cubes of ice
bing against one another
Gluttonous Pig slobs them down with
a spoonful of spicy French soup
Pigman talks to Pigwoman; spittle flying out of
his piggy chops.
he stares at my forehead
they see my odd selection
she's laughing insanely at a joke
I'm holding my eyes inside my head
while
all on my plate sit the legs
of baby spiders
all on my dish are darting
sow eyeballs
pitcher plant garnish
and frozen grey custard for dessert; (echos still in the restaurant)
I gag outloud
the Fat Pigman scoffs at this
my heart pops inside its cage
and the waiter rolls his eyes at the mess.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
on a sapphire lawn,
a glass vase of mushrooms
stands on its head.
a platter of crème custard naps,
while a bunch of grown
sunflowers tease us with their posture.
the moon is low, drunk, & stretching its borders,
over oval bushes, a little lorax hides behind them.
by the flower patch, a golden mushroom statue
is squinting. the black beam on his head sprouts tall,
arches, then dangles the celestial chandelier.
i am laying on the grass,
under the bubbled & weeping cerulean tree.
come and join me
for a dinner of daises.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
Your curls are Gulf Coast weather,
rarely cloudless and sunny, each
frustrating loop a messy
ice-cream scoop cascade.
They look like a love affair,
as sex-centered as your star sign,
too-friendly, sunday-sensuous,
meandering into ***** knots.
Every sweet-floral-fruity
custard you toss them in
is as well deserved as the
satin on your lashes and the
salve that slicks your
orbicular body.
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 4:28 PM UTC
The broken biscuits lay in a tin
An ordinary oblong tin
With turquoise pattern
And pink embossed flowers
Gold edged to finish the job.
How many times I visited
That tin on the middle shelf
In the top half of a cupboard,
Sawn door, to allow for fridge,
And quietly took out the tin.
Broken biscuits were my delight
All shapes and sizes tasty bites
Wafers, bourbon, custard creams
Rich tea, digestive all suited me
Sometimes fig sandwich, pleased.
Love Mary
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
Distant clown, over-grown cow.
Greed, fled, fed, boat-led Sam,
Getting nowhere, near no fear.
Inner, sinner; surrogate's recycle-Bin.
Learned not we have, might constitute.
Flog a sand-bag, get dusty.
Provoke, take a stand for right.
Resolve why the hate. Quite!
Speaking of cows- inquisitive beasts;
Shouldn't be cast the wrong role.
Directors fault; new term. Choice-less.
Exactly. What would you do?
It's not of oppression, strike-down obsession.
Internal bee-stings, are not the painful.
Whatever the previous past, catalyst presentation...
On-going retaliation, stains not a few.
**** Rocks are heavy!
So what of the boat pudding?
Not constructive. World should bear this too.
Culinary dialogue. O'Bam, more custard?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
I Love Pie & You Sweetie Pie!
I Love Pie & You Sweetie Pie
Love pumpkin pie its so good
Awe taste just like it should
Love lemon pie with a
touch of ****
Love it deep down in my
heart
I love jello pie it's
so sweet
The way it wiggles
it's so neat!
Love pie of banana cream
And chocolate is my dream
I love blueberry too
It's so good & blue
I love BlackBerry too awe
so sweet and black
Pick em right off the vines
and put em in a sack
I love apple pie topped
with cheese
Oh and make that a scoop
of val ice cream please
Oh and also the Apple Dutch
Oh how I love it so much!
Custard Boston and
Zesty Lime,
Whip Cream Humble and
Rhubarb all the time!
Quick Set Frozen Cream
Pie and Oreo Cookie Crust
Sweet Tatter and Velvet
Turtle Now that's a must!
But my favorite pie
of all is true
That's my favorite pie
"Sweetie Pie" it's you!
WrittenBy:BarbieKirk
11-24-14 5:09am
www.allpoetry.com/RainbowBlessings
© Barbie Kirk . All rights reserved, 16 hours ago
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,
I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered.
And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,
We'd have been three times as brave, we think,
And Custard said, I quite agree
That everybody is braver than me.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
professor Burke and professor Lee
two mathematicians who could not agree
loudly voiced their differences at half past noon
having daily lunch at the Greasy Spoon
the subject on the fateful day was Pi
and they could not see eye to eye
a disagreement on the thousandth digit
had Burke turn red and caused Lee to fidget
said Burke “No you are off by one!”
spat Lee “Your math is poorly done!”
Burke shouted, “Lee, you have gone too far!”
reached toward the counter for a candy jar
but his hand instead encountered pie
a hideous gleam sprang to his eye
he flung the pie with all his might
hit Lee full face, eyes wide with fright
but Lee recovered and found more pies
Boston Creme took Burke between the eyes
apple, custard, lemon, berry
pecan, pumpkin, key lime, cherry
pies of every kind were thrown
plates' radius squared remained unknown
the police arrived to break up the fray
took the two meringued men away
many hours later in the quiet cell
with pie for ink and tempers quelled
the two stood looking at the wall
upon which lay their equation scrawled
said Burke, with both their faces long
“Well, what do you know. We both were wrong.”
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
There once was a man with a bowtie
And a little redhead girl
I'm gonna tell you the truth now
She loved him and he loved her.
They sat around the table
With fish fingers and custard, ice cream
They talked about his big blue box
And her family
In the middle of their midnight snack
An alarm rang from TARDIS, blue
He told her he would be back
In just a minute, or two
He accidentally missed his mark
Twelve years had gone by
But he just sauntered out
Waving and saying "Amelia, hi!"
Twas the first time they saved the world
When Amelia was just nineteen
Two years later he picked her up
On the eve of her wedding
But then the cracks in the universe
And all of space and time
Consumed the Doctor, all of him
But that's not the ending rhyme
The night she and Rory wed
Amy jumped out of her chair
"I remember you!" She shouted
And the Doctor appeared there
And so the Raggedy man came back
No more in the crack in the wall
Amy's imaginary friend
Bowtie, suspenders, and all
Later came an astronaut
Her name was River Song
She lifted her hand and against her will
Killed the Doctor, gone.
But, hooray!
The Doctor wasn't dead
It was wibbly wobbly, timey wimey
Stuff messing with their heads
And Amy had a daughter
Name? Melody Pond.
But the only water in the forest is rivers,
So she was really River Song.
Subtract love,
Add hate
Daleks scream
Exterminate!
Angels, Angels everywhere
Take a little blink
In the ground and in the air
And then they took Rory
"Come along Pond, please!"
He said with a cry
She turned to him and said
"Raggedy man, goodbye!"
"No!" He shouts in despair
"It can't be true!"
He stands over their grave
Oh Ponds, he loved you
He sits on the steps
Letting River fly
Too grief stricken to hurt
Or even to cry
Dreams are broken
Time stands still
The Doctor runs up
A small rocky hill
Afterword, it reads
By Amelia Pond
We love you Doctor
And we're sorry we're gone
There's a girl waiting in a garden
She'll be waiting for a while
So go to her
She needs a smile.
Tell her she's a fairytale
Known by many, loved by more
Not best in the universe,
But most important in the world.
She went with him and took his hand
He showed her the stars and distant lands
Together they ran, their spirits high
Until they day came when they said goodbye
Goodbye, Ponds.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
I stood in line
to be weighed
in the bathroom
of the nursing home
Anne crutched herself
behind me
you haven't
got a chance in hell
of winning
that chocolate bar Kid
she said
I've seen more meat
on a butcher's pencil
stuck behind his ear
might win
I said
might fly
she said
the kid in front of me
got on
the green metal scales
and the nun
moved the weight
along the top
not you Malcolm
she said
the kid got off sulkily
I got on the scales
and the nun
moved the weight
I looked at her
black and white
headdress
her pinched features
not you Benny
she said
I got off
and walked away
Anne awkwardly
got on the scales
holding herself
on her one leg
the stump
of the other
hanging there
best so far Anne
the nun said
told you Kid
you didn't
have a chance
guess not
I said
as she crutched herself
along side of me
not to worry
if I get the choco bar
I’ll give you
a quarter for being
a good friend
no other
in this **** hole
gets a look in
we went along
to our rooms
come in Kid
she said
I hesitated
come in
I want to
ask you something
I stood swaying
uncertain
what if
one of the nuns
comes along?
what if I don't give you
quarter of the choc bar?
she said
I followed her in
to the girls dorm
no one else
was there
just she and me
she closed the door
with her backside
right Kid
I want you
to do me
a favour
favour?
I said
sensing uncertainty
hit my gut
yes I want you
to sneak along
to the kitchen tonight
and liberate
some biscuits
liberate?
I said
biscuits?
yes you know
what biscuits are
don't you
those hard things
with cream in the middle
or chocolate
on one side
I know what biscuits are
I said
but what do you mean
liberate?
take some
from the big tin
they have
on the shelf
in larder
take?
I said
you mean steal?
steal
take
liberate
whatever word
you want
to use Kid
what if I get caught?
don't get caught
but what if I do?
Anne sighed
sat on the edge
of her bed
I thought you
were someone
I could rely on Kid
not some cowardly custard
yellow belly
I looked
at her leg stump
sticking out
the other leg
reached to the floor
if you're really good
I’ll let you touch
my stump
she said
no need
I said
I'll try tonight
sneak down
after lights out
good Kid
she said
she took my right hand
and lay it
on the stump
and held it there
it felt warm
and soft
she let my hand go
good huh?
wish the rest
was there
she said
off you go
and don't get caught
I nodded
and backed out
of the room
seeing her cover
the stump
with her dress
and smile
see you
I said
you bet
she said
I walked away
thinking
of the big steal
of biscuits
unthought through
by my 10 year old brain
as yet.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
#forgotten longing
deep custard days gone by
my morning trip: the pool, always
then, to stay swimming in the ocean
favorite lifeguards who never stared me back
boardwalk seagulls, seafood season
shops with time like windy cobwebs
the hotel, our melancholy Ferris smell
that last painful sunburn pizza and
sadder September funnel cakes
vacation
where I now walk alone
crying for dreams past
not just things#
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 2:46 PM UTC
.*in the end days?! you charge against the snowflakes... and make a ******* snowman! he... he! i still can't comprehend how these personalities made money from lifestyle choice... they were basically internet bums, internet "lazy people"... bums... become supporters... engrossed in the internet homeless people... bums... i ate a custard pie, and devised a poncy-scheme to become paid for an opinion without a dialectic.... homeless people, bums... seem like philosophers by comparison... and now the bewildering quest... of how / why the internet died.*
**** it, the gloves are off...
about time to punch this *****
silly-dead...
**** it... all the internet content
creators, that are women:
are giving off nervous voices...
shoe on head... whoever...
here's where said people...
start looking for, ahem....
"real" jobs... jobs plagued by
the study of psychology....
oh they're scared...
because whatever the internet
was...
from 2007 through to
2016... in the time of the zenith...
hello new t.v.,
hello internet banking...
hello internet online shopping...
what?!
you want edgy?!
come down to the forest,
or the shady back alleyway
with the new teens...
come come...
you wanted edgy...
such a shame though...
to think of your comments
becoming as redundant
as the plight of sending
off your C.V. application...
sorry....
what?
you have finally arrived
at what you wanted...
why are you looking at me for
with that dumb-"found"
look?!
do i look stupid?
or are you pretending
to not be?!
******* internet bums...
you know it was coming...
it was coming...
i never asked for money...
i'll never ask for money...
but you did...
you begged...
you dog begged...
you...
begged...
you're still going
to beg,
when the internet is reduced
to nothing more than
a 2nd t.v., internet banking,
and internet shopping...
and... that's about it;
you're joking, you think there's
more?!
ha ha... good luck.
p.s.
because, believe it or not,
look at what you gave me?
i didn't ask for money,
i didn't ask for time...
but what you gave me
is best expressed cryptically,
as both time, and money.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
How long can an affection last?
How long can one ride a jeep?
How many times can a person shift from a jeep to another?
Would you ride along with me?
Would you accompany me?
If you do, would you sit beside me?
I felt you beside me...a strand of hair, perhaps
I wonder if you felt my goosebumps;
I'm rubbing my arms for you not to feel it...
All of those were mere imagination,
It's a long shot
How can you be beside me if you were the one driving?
How could've I felt you, if I never rode shotgun
Lastly, how would you feel me if I'm still riding the previous jeep;
And I only saw you from afar and thought, perhaps we could be...something amazing, something beautiful, something that could last
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
Crunching over the surface,
the bold warriors go
wave after wave of custard
will not fill the men with woe
rhubarb in abundance
doesn't slacken their resolve
any sprinkled sugar
with their sweat they will dissolve
though relentlessly they battle on,
the end it will come soon
"for heaven's sake men,mind the ****** spoon......."
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 2:39 PM UTC
Custard Tarts
A mouthful of sweetness
yellow;
crust;
chewed slowly, savoring
and the mind goes back
along olfactory pathways
etched long ago
back to turbulent times
of teenage years
and custard tarts, with cinnamon sprinkles
your Dad brought home for Saturday lunch
after working,
trying to keep a bankrupt business afloat
plugging the holes of ineptitude
as the ship sank lower week by week.
A sliver was handed out with the coffee
devoured by all at the table
not much else to remember
except the coldness, the distant demeanor
a start contrast to the warmth of the pies
made with love at the bakers
custard tarts, now and then
sweet!
Malcolm Davidson December 18, 2013
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Grandmothers buy flowers while their husbands
lick a cone
chocolate-vanilla swirl.
Homeless rockers keep their front
drinking beers around the statue
when all they really want
is an ice cold
strawberry treat.
Replace cafes with parlors
perfecting soft serve service, pouring
fountains of custard
to children of all ages and size.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC