On shiny hot days
When the temperature seemed always to slip
From hard, dry heat
To clammy manufactured breeze
And back again;
My grandmother would bring me to the park
To trade in sticky furniture
For grass cushions
And slipcovers of shade

When high noon drew its sword
And shadows fled,
The ice cream truck would roll in like a knight.
I liked a vanilla cone,
The scoop curving upwards like a mosque above brittle pastry.

But one shiny hot day
When the cone slipped and dripped down my arms
And my grandmother rummaged in her purse for napkins-
I lost my love for vanilla
When
Splat!

The disloyal treat leapt from my hands
And speared itself directly
In my grandmother’s face.

The vanilla dripped like blood down her nose
But
She wiped a finger across her face
Stuck it in her mouth
And grinned