blood and ice cream

Pretty is not the word to describe her
Hinting only at a larger truth.
Beauty is an epic masterwork
in chalk on rainy pavement.
A cruel condition of
her probation - like an ankle monitor,
reporting her whereabouts to philosophers,
court physicians and men of God

Someday is a promise
Empty and frail as fragrance
imprinted on a lonely pillowcase
or lip gloss on a plastic cup.
Tomorrow is a memory,
a tantrum of blind possessive desire.
Think on that
when she forgets you,
waiting in the sun
on the heat of the sidewalk,
the ice cream dripping on your shoes
and realize you would lie to that cop's face,
grab his angry gun
and die in the struggle
if called upon, to aid in her escape.
If blood and ice cream
are all you have to offer
and even they are not enough.


[Halt! Who goes there? Please feel feel to comment constructively.]