Long ago my uncle had dairy cows

once a year he'd let us take the cream

grind it one dripping hot sweaty day

in a wooden contraption brought out

just this one time a year with a crank

pressing rare ice and kosher salt around

a small metal cylinder filled to the top

with cream sugar eggs pulled nest fresh.

We cousins taking turns

the task tougher resistant

we'd have to lean push force

press with our whole bodies

into each singular revolution.

In the end my aunt would come

and scoop scrap out every bit of

a spatula one of us given to lick

the fine dear white cold mixture

into her largest fiesta ware bowl

brought out only this one time

and mix in freshly picked sliced

strawberries from her ripe patch.

So many family back then

each got a spoon small cup

sitting on hot cement steps

savoring those five maybe six

mouthfuls sweet precious icy.

The sun was beating down on my exposed neck. His ice cream dripped on my foot but it had been so hot I hadn't noticed at first. We walked along the seaside and then he said it. “ I think I need space” the frost on my teeth shattered my bones. Splinters pointing out through my chest skin as I internally bleed from the shredded heart. But the ice-cream has slowed my death. It actually stopped everything the hint of salt is lodged in a crevice if my esophagul region somewhere but it isnt as bitter as the truth. The chocolate fragments that is discovered by each glide of my tongue makes all of the components marry each other. Well any hopes of marriage and all the rest of the smooth hills of vanilla sex I once had was over. He was the pretzel slivers I had to pulverize to mold and dig out of a back molar. Not saying he wasn't good he just wasn't as good as ice-cream on a hot ass day with an ex boyfriend who paid for your melt in your mouth and on your foot vanilla spiced, custard innards with chocolate morsels and pretzel shards and a hint of salt minerals from his shoulder. Damn good ice cream like vanilla sex on a hot beach.

1989 had its share of monumental events. Berlin’s wall crumbled. A little thing called the World Wide Web was invented. Nintendo rolled out the Game Boy. Folks turned on Fox for the airing of the Simpsons’ first episode. All these historical feats made lasting impacts on society. Important...yes, but they pale in comparison to what Mars Incorporated accomplished. For it was a mere 36 years ago this titan of the candy world introduced the Snickers ice cream bar, relegating the above mentioned to mere historical footnotes.

I was always a fan of the candy bar in its original form. If I wanted to get fancy, tossing one in the freezer made for a nice variation. But frozen Snickers had one major setback. You needed patience and self-control for the bar to thaw before enjoying. If not, there was the high potential for a dental catastrophe if bitten into too soon or with too much gusto. Other than that, I never thought there was a need for tinkering with perfection.

Thankfully, my limited imagination and I were not part of the Research and Development team at the Mars’ headquarters in McLean, Virginia. Converting their beloved candy bar into an ice cream treat transcended my culinary wildest dreams while producing DNA-altering results in this sugar-addicted manchild.

The Snickers ice cream bar checked all the boxes for me. The appearance resembles a normal Snickers bar, so I’m lulled into a prejudicial opinion of what I’m about to experience. But as soon as I breach the chocolate-coated exterior and find no resistance from the ice cream interior, I experience a sensation that propels me to a new realm of tactile bliss.

The harmonious blend of indulgence and confectionary euphoria in every bite sends my tastebuds on a transcendental adventure. The harmonious union of sticky caramel amid a luxurious texture of ice cream triggers calorie-driven endorphins, which flood my brain.

Neither Snickers nor ice cream have ever been a source of disappointment for me. Combining these forces into one ensures this streak remains intact.

I am not narrow-minded. I believe that variety is the spice of life. You can’t go wrong with a Creamsicle, Drumstick or Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia (hold the political preaching). But I know what I like, and I like what I know, and Snickers ice cream bars are the foundation of my bliss.

Chocolate and sherbet,my two favourite toppings.

Not a Terry's orange.Whos that knocking?

Although if frozen solid,I might give it a smack.

The neighbor below riding a broomstick,giving the ceiling a whack.

The cone sucks down all the yummy goodness.

My tongue extends to the delicious pit,devouring the gooey mess.

Not a cone of silence,a crunch that wakes the ears behind the wall.

My hand gripping the decadent cylinder,liquid joy dripping on my coveralls.