LICKING OFF THE FROSTING

by Tricia Knoll

Old friends remember Tom’s birthday party

when we were young and houses were small. 

We assembled in the living room to start with wine

or beer, some sort of dip. Then his wife cried out

Pearl! and we all saw that my small gold mutt 

named after Janis Joplin stood by 

the coffee table to lick half the white frosting

off Tom’s carrot cake. No one noticed

for a long time. A decision made to accept

the other half for the celebration.  

 

This fate of glaciers—sneaky heat

licks them away, inch by inch until

it’s too late to do anything but see

what is and try to figure out 

where is the other half of the cake.  

Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet who believes the impact of the IPCC climate report can be felt in what we know is happening in our own lives—and have known but did not address over decades. Much of her poetry is eco-poetry which you can find at tricaknoll.com.

ARIANA LEAVES A BAD TASTE IN OUR MOUTHS

by Michael Mark






That empty calorie confection
can lick my 12 hour factory job.
She can take the tip of her tongue
and taste the lonely dark of 3AM
alarms to get to the donut shop,
to mix the batter, to bake the donuts,
spread the icing that she licked and
did not buy. So another customer
tasted her spit. She can suck my middle-
class mortgage. And laugh because I’m
the sucker who has to work two jobs
to pay for it. I can’t walk away. She
can show up at a donut shop and bitch
about America’s obesity issues with all
the sincerity of imitation whipped cream.
She can eat her disgusting words on camera
in front of fat America. She can slip
her tongue in her dessert dancer of a boyfriend
then slide it over the sugary icing and leave
it tasting of arrogance, of pure meanness. That
customer who brought those donuts home
had to wonder why they stunk of revulsion. “I
asked for Boston Cream and got Rude Insolent
Post Teen.” She can flip that tongue so that simple,
happy, rainbow sprinkles smack of stupidity and
selfishness. That tongue can sell out stadiums.
And she can lie with that tongue that she really,
truly, honestly loves what the camera caught her
saying she hates. She can climb to #1 with that tongue.
And the rest of us, we can take a bite of what she leaves
us and pray for a little taste of forgiveness.


Michael Mark is a hospice volunteer and long distance walker. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Gargoyle Magazine, Lost Coast Review, Rattle, Ray’s Road Review, Spillway, Tar River Poetry, Sugar House Review, and other nice places. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.