Popsicle Apostate

another incidental dessert poem

Multiples— Crucifixion Popsicles, Sebastian Errazuriz Studio, 2012

Popsicle Apostate

I read the joke on the sodden wood stick;
The joke? Your trauma is ordinary,
Ordinal to the holy nail quickening 
The blood of Christ, the caught fritillary 

Species that is not some Nabokov blue,
But dun and grey and common as ice pops,
Pinned to the wax of a summer’s accrue
Of ordinary injustices, lopped 

Off like heads of hinds in a paneled hall.
My lips drip sugar and red dye forty;
Like a portico angel, my footfall
Announces nothing coming but the sortie

Of wasps at the garbage can, go ahead
Noli me tangere; the dead stay dead. 

(you’ll notice this is a sonnet— catch me soon with another one at The Sonneteer)