Inconvenient Ice

by Peter Manuel

Inconvenient Ice
     [T]he mad enterprise of writing in order to be forgiven . . .
     Jean–Paul Sartre, “The Words”

Thuggish snow, lack of
“Blow;” sweating
Of my friends’ pipes
When they — attempting to forgive —
Say, “I know, I know . . . Mania

Has plowed you, Peter, from
Prosperity’s pavement
Like inconvenient ice;
With the pre-exquisite taste of
Lithium salts in your mouth.”  How

Steely sleet crowbars
The maw open for cuisine,
Pounds me non-prolific;
Tamping verbs and moods a-slattern.
“Inappropriate metaphor,” My

Hoariest mentors gripe,
“Why this ungodly tripe?  Is
Life truly worth
Naught?”  Amis, je ne sais
Squat.