No, Popsickle by Gabe Gudding

I hardly know what to say. A case of nonsense and anthropomorphism: The popsicle as a resilient child. The popsicle as a metaphor for not giving up. Maybe Gudding didn't mean that. But I love the sounds and the craziness of it. It's delightful to me.

No, Popsickle

No, popsickle: stay.
Don’t be eaten. Remain in the freezer, the
super market, lodge in the long
far-traveling fridge truck—Be convoyed: indeed
be conveyed for a Dakota
a Missouri—but when the truck arrive
at its depository
—or store—at the end of what hot bridge in the dim forenoon,
stay, little bulb of colored cold,
far in your cozy no-no.
I say chill, be a child, popsickle, refuse.

First appeared in Court Green

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