I’m eating ice cream in the rain,
it whips my hair to tangled tendrils:
clouds hover like volcanoes, rain cold
as Icelandic fjord, sun sweeps it’s face away.
I’m eating ice cream in the rain, not any ice cream
home-made, thick with sugar and vanilla;
the streets are wet and slippery again, shutters batter
mother’s hurry with umbrella.
It’s May, the trees somehow too green
pollen drops its sticky spray on windows
swallows nest and roses curl around the fence
lightning flares it burns the sky ignites the grey but I don’t care
I’m eating ice cream in the rain and laughing.