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Ice Cream at Sixty
Stephen Jackson

I will be shut off,
the way the flick of a switch
will make the kitchen go dark

as I exit, bowl of ice cream
in hand, in a state of what —
is it too much to call it elation?

But the sweet, creamy chocolate,
of late, is all that makes me
happy — as I sit quietly, alone

savoring spoon after spoon of it,
knowing in my microbiome
that it, too, will be gone soon.

—
Stephen Jackson lives in the Pacific Northwest. His writing has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Other poems appear in The American Journal of Poetry, Door Is A Jar, Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, Impossible Archetype, Stone of Madness Press, and on the International Human Rights Art Festival Publishes platform.

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