Spotty Logic (spottylogic) wrote,
Spotty Logic

Eating popsicles.
In July, wooden sticks, and
even children, melt.

Each frozen chemical treat
a promise of sweet winter.

Grape-flavored drops, so
like the melting icicle
Summer's late thaw.

No more the sound of hooves,
but I hear the ice-cream man.

Notes fall like blossoms,
petals repeating themselves
over and over.

How many times will we hear
"Pop Goes the Weasel?" Too few.
Tags: poetry

  • Aww :)

    So for YEARS the University of Texas Pagan, Vampire Larp, and GLBT groups tended to cluster around a particular oak tree in the west mall. I think we…

  • cargrump

    Whoof. I've taken a few beatings over the last few days over this. My office is moving across town, which spells an end for my nice little commute…

  • Tonight's experiment--

    Okay, so it's Dogai's birthday tonight. Bauson said that D really liked "biscoff" cookies, which are buttery little things with a touch of spice, and…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened