Consider how the ice cream sandwich obliterates the memory of all previous ice cream
Consider the ice cream itself, the skin that grew during months of storage.
Consider how each bite threads fault lines through both chocolate rectangles.
Consider the blast-furnace day that shot the ice cream sandwich from the freezer.
Consider the miracle of the freezer & the ice cream & the stars, too, the stars that aren’t
stars, but galaxies.
Consider the frozen river in the photograph over there, how blue the ice on
the granite wall.
Consider how a twenty-ton granite shelf sheared off the wall in August, 1886
& killed no one.
Consider all the picnics & parasols & straw boaters in the woods then.
Consider how the moment the woman in the hat for which untold birds gave their lives
dipped her spoon in the wooden bucket, ice cream had bestowed bliss on the human
tongue for a thousand years.
Consider the desire for a second ice cream sandwich the first inspires & how the first
thought is “Oh, no. I’ll get fat” & the second is “Why not?”
Consider how after the first bite all thoughts hum “Heaven” till the ice cream
sandwich is gone.
A native of the Pine Barrens region of southern New Jersey, John Repp has lived for many years in northwestern Pennsylvania. His latest book is Fat Jersey Blues, published by the University of Akron Press in 2014