Forgive me my nineteen nineties’
proto-emo reference point,
but Dear You:
your presenting ideas for an upcoming poem
entitled “Ice Cream Sandwich,”
rathering than simply writing a poem
entitled “Ice Cream Sandwich,”
was a daring move.
Not necessarily a good move,
but a daring one.

I could see why you might not be overly interested
in composing any of the concepts you created.
They weren’t all that grand.
For example:

You went off on a rhyme-scream
about how an ice cream sandwich isn’t a real sandwich
because there’s no meat
and how the Earl of Sandwich
would be rolling in his grave
down in hell
if he had to eat one
every day as some kind of punishment.
Did you ever stop to think, though,
that perhaps, after centuries,
the Earl of Sandwich might be
a vegetarian?

Wouldn’t that just upset your little applecart of assumptions? I should think so!
Moving on…

You allude to an idea
that ice cream sandwiches
ought not to be eaten in Autumn,
for they belong to the warmer months,
and it thus follows that Fall should have foods
of a far more fiery form.
I could accept that possible poem,
but the bigotry behind it,
the sheer isolation
where all things are ghettoized in their place
and never allowed to move beyond –
that is simply limiting.
I defy it, sir!

Finally, you knew enough to self-censor
when you said that black biscuits surrounding white
was a weak metaphor for multiculturalismness.

You could tell
that your literary bones were too weak
to flesh out as pomes
which is why you left them as they were!

Maybe you had better thoughts
that you kept to yourself
that you’re preparing for publication.
Certainly, I hope so.

If I am wrong, of course,
feel free to make the case
by writing any of these
ice cream sandwich masterpieces
and showing us all
just what you really had in mind.
I look forward to your work.

Make it snappy.