Sweet Nothings

Lychee Twist Cone from McDonald's
A hot as heck February afternoon

--

A dollar would soft serve me
the novel creation of golden arches
bending over backwards
for customer satisfaction.

Tinged with the faint hue
of a rosy finish, a twirling
tower of two-in-one;
Too sweet? A tad.
All in all? Not bad.

We do concede that
artificial is our taste,
stifling is our fervour,
but it was a single coin
that brought me
glee in lychee,
paid heed to my
feeling the heat.

In the end we are soft flesh
in hard shells,
rough around the edges
and bumpy along the rind,
but delicate on the inside
and fragile as you'd find.

This is just the flavouring,
and so I waited for the plot
twist -
waited, waited,
until
it all melted to nothing.

Daughter's Grief

the tears loused her foundation,
smudged lipstick in streaks
of despair-drowned breaths.

a call from home
should have borne the fresh air
of a familiar, lilting voice,
but all she heard were commas
of compunction reluctant to break
the news of a full stop
for a life to whom she owes her own.

now her shoulders point inwards
and channel quavering speech
of her grief;
of a grief I cannot relate to,
of a grief I can only apologise for.

the receiver of her first words
utters words no more.
fifty three year old eyes knew
a mother;

now those eyes weep,

for her.