Frango<\/p>\n
Today I\u2019m lonely for light brown rain clouds
\nlayered like frango mint ice cream, a flavor
\ngone the way of downtown department stores\u2014
\nboarded up or sold. Saturdays I rode the bus
\nthrough Industrial Seattle, pulled the bell-cord
\nat Frederick & Nelson\u2019s, beelined
\npast perfume counters, ran down brass-railed
\nstairs, quick right into the Paul Bunyan Room,
\nspun in my own orbit on a metal stool
\nuntil a waitress wearing a black and white<\/p>\n
maid dress, hairnet, pencil tucked behind her ear everlasting, Judgment Day, the place <\/p>\n “Frango” is reprinted from Jeopardy<\/em>.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n John Davis is the author of Gigs<\/em> (Sol Books) and The Reservist<\/em> (Pudding House Press.) His work has appeared in The Beloit Poetry Journal, Cider Press Review, Crab Creek Review, Cream City Review<\/em>, Cutbank<\/em>, Iron Horse Literary Review<\/em>, The North American Review, Poetry Northwest<\/em>, Rio Grande Review, Sycamore Review<\/em>, and many others. He lives on Bainbridge Island where he teaches high school and performs in rock and roll bands.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Frango Today I\u2019m lonely for light brown rain clouds layered like frango mint ice cream, a flavor gone the way of downtown department stores\u2014 boarded up or sold. Saturdays I rode the bus through Industrial Seattle, pulled the bell-cord at … Continue reading
\nwiped a rhapsody of handprints and perfect
\ncircles of plates and cups, scribbled frango mint<\/em>
\n milk shake<\/em> on her pad. How I spun,
\nthrumming, kicking the leg of the stool\u2014
\na young John Glenn circling the Earth.
\nHeaven arrived in a metal container,
\ncondensation sliding down the chalice like angel
\nblessings. In that first moment of pouring
\nand swallowing, I was the ice cream, the milk,
\nthe frango, the body and bread of Christ and life<\/p>\n
\nwhere questions about angels were answered,
\nsugar traveling to invisible bouffants in my body.
\nI was every rivet of the metal, was sugar
\nmelting ice, was Marilyn Monroe\u2019s eyes.
\nEvery vessel in my body whispered frango,<\/em>
\n frango.<\/em> On the wall Paul Bunyan ran
\nin brown and green earth tones. On the stool
\nI spooned chunks of heaven with my straw,
\nswallowed, toasted the first day of the universe.<\/p>\n