all that unhappy ice cream

she seems lost

and permanently unhappy,

so i take

her out for ice cream.

but still no

smile,

no laughter.

i tell her she looks wonderful

since she broke up

with her boyfriend, Igor.

she's back

to her old self.

i mention the sealed border,

as i lick

my cone of rocky road,

the trade deals,

boys out of women sports,

the lowering

of inflation,

no tax on tips,

or social security,

things are finally looking up.

the stock market is booming.

gas prices falling,

wars winding down,

then she pulls

out a knife,

although it's just a butter knife,

and tells me that if i get

any closer

she's going to

inflict harm onto me.

she's been this way since

the election,

to which i tell her it's only

for another

forty-two more months,

enjoy the ride.

here's a napkin, you've got

a dollop

of butter brickle on your chin.

and why are you

carrying a butter knife

around?

she shows me the buttermilk

biscuits

in her purse. oh.