The Emperor of Ice-Cream

[pen_grunt]

Poetry is often inaccessible and obtuse. It's one of those things that you must be in the right head-space to tolerate, unless you're particularly poetically inclined.

Today The Emperor of Ice-Cream popped into my head (I get random phrase-poppings, I don't know why) and I realized how long it's been since I've really taken the time to appreciate ANY poetry and I remembered how much I really enjoy some of it.

The Emperor of Ice-Cream
Wallace Stevens

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.