The ice cream is before me in the bowl
And suddenly my spoon is far too small.
I need a shovel so to eat it whole
(My Tongue’s the one who makes this urgent call).
Surrendering to it with eager Eyes,
I take a bite and quickly make it two,
And then a third, exulting in the prize
That’s sweet and melts, so I don’t have to chew.
Almost as quick as pleasure is the pain
As though my forehead rammed into a wall,
As though the ice cream climbed into my Brain
Not like the normal foods that take a fall.
The Brain says, “Stop!” The Tongue says to the Hand,
“I want some more. Now shovel even faster!”
And Hand says, caught between the two commands,
“Who do I listen to? Who is the master?”
photo by Adrian van Leen at
© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.