Dessert

I've been wanting a bit of dessert for days.

Did I want the coconut cake from Cafe Patachou

or did I want to go up to The Flying Cupcake for, 

well, cupcakes? Instead, I went to the 

Frona Mae Dessert Cafe

on East Washington Street, right between a bar 

and an art gallery. A group of people sat at the front

table, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight

pouring through the window.

The building, gutted and restored

to create this space, reminded me of all the 

stories I've read about artists sitting 

in Parisian cafes discussing the latest 

in avant-garde art or sharing their 

poetry over tiny cups of espresso.

I had a bowl of Graeter's black cherry 

chocolate chip ice cream. 

Gawd, I'm a sucker for that stuff.

Even among all the pies and cakes, the ice

cream sang a siren's song.

Teaspoon by teaspoon, I luxuriated

in my little fantasy of being

in a French cafe, wiling away a bit 

of the afternoon as poets

and writers argued some philosophical

point, and imagined great art

hung in the gallery next door. *Sigh.*

Where Chocolate Peanut Butter Swirl Ice Cream Comes From ...

Well, of course, it has to come from a big resin Guernsey, all ten feet of her. I think if you had to be painted up and ride around on the back of a flatbed trailer all day, your teats would probably make unusual flavors, too.

Is she dreaming of flying over the moon?

Do the teats become clogged with peanut butter swirl? 

Is the ice cream pre-churned with a curl on top?

Well, at least she's been saved from one indignity.

I want to free the plastic cow.