Screaming Mad He Is, I Hear
For this is not the end of this obscene occurrence,
nor is it the start, my dear guests.
Somewhere down the middle of this table
you sit before me, with empty ice creams cones,
curious as to what you are to do them.
Preposterous, I know. All I can say, is that I hope you have good reflexes
and hand eye coordination.
Tick tock, tick...
"TIME", I scream before one can ask what about the time?
It starts,-the magnificent madness. Oh, how I do love this part.
Swoosh, splat!
That's where all the ice cream got to, I chuckle loudly to myself.
Guests, I plead of you, try and be a bit tidier with your eating habits.
"But Sir Scream-A-Lot, it wasn't I", murmurs the small red headed pig tail girl.
"The ice cream just came out of nowhere, in such obscene abundance,
almost like falling rain from the sky", adds the wise old bearded man.
Ladies and gentleman, fools and gypsies,
gnomes and squirrels, welcome to the humble establishment
of where the mad ice cream man resides, and believe me he's "mad".
Have you ever travelled so far the chase after that most irritating music,
or ran so fast to catch up with the man, just to forget what flavour you wanted?
Chocolate dipped, extra sprinkles, sundae with hot fudge and more; why so many choices?
Here at the humble home of the ice cream man, you mustn't worry
for you have access to as much ice cream that tickles your fancy.
There is a catch, I am afraid; the man is a little mad,
lost too many brain cells douching himself in cream,
mad in the sense that he is strictly crazy you see. He through's the ice cream at you,
every hour, on the hour to be precise,
well into the air more or less.
Many thanks must be awarded to our highly advanced, high speed,
mess operating powered ice cream projectors.
Tick tock, tick...
"TIME" again. Swoosh, splat!
I must also add,
that our sense of time here is a little distorted some days,
all based on how the man is feeling you see.
Beep, beep, bop...
"sigh", I am being summoned my lovely guests
and must sadly leave you in all your icy, messy splendour.
"Don't forget, this is not the end", I scream as I wonder off.
And the moral of the story is,
perhaps one should think twice before they scream for ice cream.
Copyright © Alice Nightingale | Year Posted 2012
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