A whole new order has come.
The old stores are closing,
and even the book shops are going out of business,
traffic is less than usual, seems slower;
no one, I guess, can afford the cost of gas.
A new emporium has arrived to cool our lips
and the innards of our digestive tracts,
and it even stays there in our mind’s eyes
keeping the hot sun from baking our brains.
Well, that’s it. It’s a new way of life, this Frozen Yogurt,
like a picture of ice packs at the poles of the Earth,
of penguins waddling up and down
like they own the place.
Like i-pods and i-pads have obsolesced books,
it even looks like “real” ice cream is on the way out.
The Good Humor man is gone.
Haven’t seen one in months.
But a Frozen Yogurt madness with its automatic machines
is become as pervasive as the internet,
and at the purveyors thereof
we line up and vote, yes!, yes!.
Yogurt for Congress.
Yogurt for President.