when summer is at its ugliest

when summer is at its ugliest
and there is not enough lipstick to rouge hell's mouth

capture God's voice in an old wine bottle
in the shade of the greenest weeping willow
and say:

this is an ice cream truck day

God will stretch taffy time
around his index finger
and tear you off a sugary piece

it will only taste holy for a moment

Reviews

[John]

Summer, wine, green, ice cream...It should be a picnic of a poem. One zinger after another. A poem that stays in the mind.

[blueviolin]

i'm glad you enjoyed it. thank you :)