floating caviar cookie surprise—
8 year old me, 5 year old brother.
a cruise ship Bahamas bound,
a voyage not without peril.
through wild tropic storm,
night, our captain hosts us all,
neither we knew what parties
were for nor captains or storms.
dim ballroom lights we knew
turned everything everyone gold.
journeyed for hors d'oeuvres,
taste bud riches beyond our years
and a vigorous Atlantic shuffle,
two fronts posing for gastro-thunder.
cookies—heard a mermaid song
out the murky deep lulling,
generous heaps of strange
thick bubbly, promises
of cream-frosting, tinted
red and black, glistening.
i took red, he had black.
yo ho a toast, down the hatch,
cookies frosted by baby-makers,
baby-makers of dead fish,
what lightly guarded treasure
of whirling ocean vessels,
too generous dear captain.
swallowed
wilted
struggled
wept
captain and company feting
sweating
bubbling
swaying
brewing
dear smartly dressed captain,
the mermaids have ordained
we bring you deep ocean fare.
on your coat, shirt, shoes, pants,
deck, table, chair, and passengers,
we make egg cookies of you.
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