Milk As Metaphor

The milk straight from the KELVINATOR
was as cool as the William Carlos Williams plums of
my 1980s youth.

Those were years of turbulence as I drove to
learn in a concrete bunker in my Ford Maddox Ford.

I scratched my disappointment in the dirt.

Milk as cold as night.
Milk as cold as the Liberal Party.
Milk as cold as poison from a man-made glass nipple.

I lie on the couch and give that Freudian another
$200 that I borrowed from my mother.