Gabriel Gudding in Court Green
No, popsickle: stay. Doint be eaten. Remain in the freezer, the
super market, lodge in the long
far-traveling fridge truck—Be convoyed indeed
be conveyed for a Dakota
a Missouri—but when the truck arrive
at it depository
—or store—at the end of what hot bridge in a dim forenoon,
stay, little bulb of colored cold,
far in your cozy no-no.
I say chill, be a child, popsickle, refuse.