Our young senses swooned at surreal melding
of bright orange sherbet and vanilla
ice cream with a stick handle, slow melting
compared to sisters Fudge and Pop. Still, a
shudder of fear and wonder rose from us
when Creamsicle imposed its brief presence.
Our palates found no match for Dream’s promise,
Cream’s ice-milk dermis (watery essence)
a poor player next to our favorite’s
velvety inner flesh. And now, high tech’s
invaded our age—software composites
with Dreamsicle’s moniker, meant to work
in Walkman phones, threatening our dreamy shtick,
forcing humans to listen before we lick.
Roger Armbrust
July 29, 2007
