Sprinkles on my Ice-Cream

Sprinkles on my Ice-Cream

On my ice-cream there are lots:
Pink, yellow, orange,
green and purple.

I know these sprinkles were
made in a factory, but I don’t
think about that.

These are tasty toppings,
and fun; the tiny bits of sugar
come from the circus- the red
ones are little clown’s noses,
they smile at me and giggle.
If I squeeze the purple sprinkles
they honk, and the green ones
toot. The pink are tutus,
twirling, whirling.

They melt a little, the Vanilla
a smeared rainbow. A happy
smeared rainbow, a gigantic rainbow,
mixing with the ice cream, cheerfully
atop and inside the ice cream.

The sprinkle-rainbow comes off the top
of the cold white dome, spreading
into the air; it is a sphere expanding-
it engulfs me- I sparkle and guffaw
inside the rainbow’s womb- I am
fed from a pink, yellow, orange,
green and purple umbilical cord.

In here I hear my colorful mother's
laughter; I feel the vibrations of her
ever-expanding body. Now I meet
my twin, and now my triplet.

I know these sprinkles were
made in a factory, but I don’t
think about that.