An ice cube floated in my glass <br />and flashed with pride its see-through ass.. <br />Its brothers seemed to like the feel <br />of Sour Mash (Hi, Jack) 's appeal <br />to prominent and wealthy Feudals <br />who sat all day constructing doodles; <br />their lips were chapped and stained pitchblack <br />and often they would spit you back <br />into the drink as if they wondered, <br />and intellectually pondered <br />about the purpose of plain ice <br />and whether drink could be a vice. <br /> <br />Its life had started with the hope <br />that cubes, which rank above sheer dope, <br />would have a life and ample time <br />to savour sour drinks with lime <br />and cherries, salt along the rim <br />green olives, ready for a swim <br />but, sadly, in this sorry case <br />the drinker does deserve no praise, <br />he paid attention to the dames, <br />to cards and dice and other games. <br /> <br />Thus all the laws of physics cried <br />that liquid, solid things abide <br />by rules that cannot ever see <br />a challenge from the likes of me. <br />As ambient temperature declined <br />from reasonable to unassigned. <br />our little cube was forced to think <br />if there is life after you shrink.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-short-life-of-an-ice-cube/
