I Will Kick Your Ass!

The burlap napkin is covering
a tub of freezer burned blue ice cream
called "Cotton Candy Ski Jump."
My glasses are smudged
with the oil from your face.

A pat of butter is stuck
to your cap and all you can say is "gosh."
Disdain is blooming
like a knife blooms blood, like
peanut butter proves there is a god,
like a red kite floats in the Gowanus Canal.

A lap is solemn
when you are fatigued by grief.

PS I will kick your ass.