I want an à-la-mode life. Ben & Jerry’s, months on end, with sweet-tooth disregard for slim figures. Mr. Spumoni, I’ll be your fashionable little spoon, if you’d let me. Let’s share the cookie-dough ice cream. Be my chocolate-to-vanilla counterpart. There’s worry in me, that the waffle cone is not 100 proof. Your absinthe-infused spirit. Flippant over too-many flavors. Alcohol then another argy-bargy. Don’t make strawberries turn sinister. Whiskey, caramel swirl, can we have a buzz either way? I know the antidote--it’s the Amaretto cherry gelato antiseptic. I want to taste the confession. Wash our sticky hands. Cleanse the remnant of the bitter kiss. Both touch skin in much the same way. A tinge, a treat. One warm, one cool. But…wait. One scoop, or two? I know you can’t resist. And it’s not the sugar. Suppose you sit with me one last time? Let’s indulge. Sprinkles. Spring rain.

L.W.

"Last Scoop" is a poem about longing for one last intimate, indulgent connection. It captures the speaker’s desperation and tenderness as they wrestle with loving someone whose alcoholism forces the painful possibility of letting them go.

Song Inspiration: Freeze Frame by Niamh Regan.