"icee" poems
i hear you through the stained glass
screaming at children, scaring the **** out of them
god **** you're ******* tough, aren't you?
telling a nine year old to jump in the garbage where she belongs
with your cigarette stained screams
and hair that would gladly twist it's tendrils
around any unsuspecting victim
quick enough to squeeze the life out of them
before they had the sense to run
and this little girl has strength enough to keep her chin up,
keep moving her little legs to grab her icee
from the corner market in this early summer heat
and you're still on your god **** porch
yelling about little ******** pinching your baby
if you want to be the guard dog of this neighborhood
let's get you a chain and leash
because there's no question in my mind
that you are a *****
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 7:04 PM UTC
"good luck," they think it means.
brides, grooms, hell, even the kids in the club.
and the notion that the phrase comes with the
shattering of glass under a custom print napkin--
just wrong.
it's important to be mindful of what mazel tov means in
that moment, sure, but it's also
important to be mindful of what mazel tov
means in the everyday. the ritual.
see, mazel tov means "what good fortune."
and I know, I know, sounds pretty
**** close to "good luck."
but think about the glass.
all these tiny pieces to pick up
and you say, "good luck."
have fun picking up the shards.
don't cut your finger.
saying "good luck" in that moment
makes you an *** but "what good fortune"
sounds like you got something up your sleeve.
and you should. in this life, always. always
a few tricks. you know when I was little,
my mother asked me what I wanted to be
when I grew up and I told her, I said,
"I want to be a magician."
her response, "you can't do both."
she's right. that's no profession for an adult,
but you can be an adult and a
magician on the side, as a hobby,
that's alright.
wait.
what was I talking about?
magicians, magicians, oh. tricks.
how else are you going to get by?
mazel tov is a mind trick.
see, we say "what good fortune"
when the glass breaks to reframe the
situation. what's your reaction
to that sound? your ears perk up--
if ears can actually do that, I don't know--
the hairs on your neck stand up.
I guess they can't really stand in the conventional
sense, but, well, you feel the space of a room.
and after that beautiful sound, and I mean beautiful,
you are forced to take everything else into account.
you don't want anything else to break. what matters most,
you know? that's why we say "what good fortune."
I'm delighted to know something as worthless
as glass has broken. because now I'm more
careful with what's valuable to me. right?
you spill soda on a cloth seat in your new car.
mazel tov.
now you don't have to be paranoid
every time your nephew climbs in with an Icee.
it's material crap. just crap. you're alive.
you've got a car. be thankful for what you have.
reframe, you know?
your girlfriend, your wife leaves you for a
former high school quarterback turned
owner of a lawn service company.
another casualty of the sweaty, lemonade-fueled fantasy.
once again, mazel tov.
you are so lucky you didn't spend the rest
of your life with her. the glass shattered.
it's a beautiful sound.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
parched tongue
please
mister
cola
carmex
these cracked lips
it's time
to hydrate
this carbo
bi-
sickling
through vacant streets
for a cure
my tummy
is like this town
a desiccant cactus
it's 12 a.m.
in stockton
12 amens
spew
from dry desert gums
i sea
liquor store
icee
soda
this is
no mirage
i found
atlantis
at the bottom
of a coke bottle
peddling back home
peddling
peddling
stop
I dropped
My holy grail
He stops
Is he thirsty?
He pulls knife
Like a sleeved playing card
“give me your ****
Poor minus poor
0-0
=0
Or X0
After he cheapshots me
Fist meet face
Face meet fist
obliged
Profit
10 cents
Gym membership
Fuzzy lint *****
But not my soda
Or my sweat
Or my tears
Or my blood
It’s time
To hydrate
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
"Could we find somewhere to sit? Do you know someplace with like, benches, and a fountain or something?"
He sips at an Icee, less of an Icee and more of a blend of colored sugar and foam because the machine is on the fritz.
Keeps asking he if I want some.
I give in, the idea of our tongues hooking onto the same straw
Slurping up the same brownish slush
Makes me warm.
I know it shouldn't,
that it's wrong to feel this way.
Back to the question,
"You mean like James Street?"
I answer, laugh
Then regret it.
He gets embarrassed
When I point out silly things he says.
He thinks I'm smarter than him.
He's too brilliant for that to be true.
He smiles and turns away his face,
Shyness, feigned or maybe not,
"I should have known that."
We go there now, that place it feels like I've been to hundreds of times with him
But realistically it's probably a few dozen at most.
I tell him it's alright, stop blushing.
So here we are, where we used to sit in a summer long past
I thought I could be with him forever,
Deep and premature infatuation
Though still lingering and creeping back into my fore-mind at the worst times
I feel that something's crept back into his as well.
He's acting nervous,
Keeps saying things and getting embarrassed for no reason.
My chest empties,
I think two years ago
I'd be happier with this.
But it's now.
When I'm home I drift to sleep with one question swimming in my head--
How many people can you love at once?
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
oh' where did those days go
those enid blyton days
when my greatest wish
was to be jo, from the famous five....
those long and glorious
summerdays....
of sunshine and youth.
when bikes and fresh air
whipping past your face,
was way more....
important,
than winning the ratrace.
when the local creek
was the multiplex,
with so many different worlds on show ....
at each
new bend of the
winding, water slow.
when life was a beach
and living was carefree..
those days of watermelon
slices and orange icee's
backyard cricket....
belt it over the fence
for a six and out!!!
bbq'd sausages,
smothered in onions
and tomato sauce....
slapped on a slice,
of good white bread,
sufficed as dinner.
with a salad of course,
(if quick the salad could
be served surreptisiouly to
the local wildlife with a slip
and tilt of the paper plate)
if lucky, strawberries and
icecream to follow.
oh' those were the days,
simpler than most...
when the biggest
difficulty
was in ,cadging
one more hour,
before sleeping at night.
one more chapter,
(perhaps, even two)
of adventuring
with the famous five,
before sleeping....
under the security
of youth...
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
I hate and love this place.
I hate the long line of people I have to serve,
filled with naggy mothers,
bleached, fried hair,
silicone bodies the color of bacon.
I hate the heavy ache in my feet,
sign of a long shift,
having to serve food to thankless patrons.
I hate how the juicy, salty burgers taste so good,
adding unwanted lumps and bumps.
Grease sizzling, popping in the air,
Sticking to your skin, permeating your hair.
And yet,
I love the sound of Denis's voice breaking through the blanket of shrieks,
telling me hello in his clipped English.
I love the sizzling of traitorous patties on the grill,
looking for love in someone's stomach.
I love the constant banter between Thomas and me.
I always let him win.
I love seeing the cute, scruffy arcade repairman as he comes to my register
waiting for me to offer a free icee.
He always pays for it anyway.
This place annoys me all the time,
the screams of children, the lack of tips, the way my skin peels off from my fingers,
an ugly result of having to wash my hands every 5 minutes.
And yet, I love it.
Every inch,
the good and the bad.
All of it.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
Open the ice-box take out some ice cream
We're going to play some ice hockey
And when all the fighting's done
Ice packs are what we will need
The ice cap has no lice, mice, rice
Heard Bo Bice's vice was dice
The ice age was a time not nice
Ice breaker or an ice-boat
They both let ships move forward
The ice that's in the ice-house
has icicles that formed
The baker's work is now complete
Icee or Italian ices
The icing's on the cake. Too sweet?
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
nothing more satisfying
than that
first swim
of the summer
that first lick of a
dripping icee or gelato whatever floats your goats
but that view
of that first warm sunset
reminding you that you don't got a man yet.
_absolutely precious_
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
It goes like this:
Coke,
Blue raspberry,
Red raspberry.
Repeat
until it's filled
to the top.
But when I
get to the bottom,
if found the courage
to ask,
would you warm
my cold hands
with the heat radiating
off of your heart?
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
emotions preserved
like peaches in heavy syrup
_too sweet_
forgetting all the bad
reveling in thick happiness of the past-
take a whiff and i can taste your smile again
-again
a thing that was done already
a safe haven you look back on
i impale a slimy peach slice with a fork
try to shake off excess preserve while it drips
back into the cup
gave me flashbacks of how my
heart looked in your hand
while blood trickled down your forearm like
a melted icee
graze teeth against the
flesh and you’re still here
-still, again
funny words for beautiful fools
things go back to the way they should’ve
been
not how they were and
i pick up the container
knowing that they have grown too rich
-old.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC