The fireworks from the diamonds he gave me dusk and dawn
went out with a sizzle and a bucket of pawned ice.
I would work if I could, but not at the microchip factory;
undocumented, I fear a vigilante fact-finding ICE.
Alone, I wander the streets, having lost my smart gloves;
in case of emergency, on my wrist glows ICE!
In hopes of a future cure, we thought about cryogenics;
but I wanted to live now, not then. So, his crypt is on ice.
A kind of limbo. Painless, without always feeling betrayed
in the inferno´s damned ninth circle, made of ice.
Surely to be preferred, alive or dead, over the horror
of hellfire in a draft from Hieronymous - no ice!
At times, I wonder about the absolute-zero condensate:
does the shifty cat compensate for black ice?
We might find out in the Boomerang Nebula at 1 Kelvin,
on a Sunday hyperdrive, on a day off thin ice.
Suzanne Niedzielska is a sometime professor of philosophy, retired IT director from public and private sectors, active early musician, and published poet. Her current collection of ghazals resides in The Ghazal Page. She regularly publishes haiku in the New England Letters and other venues. Chapbooks include "peach-hued: a collection of haiku and other short forms" (2014); "Black Tie & Tales" (2007), a formalist collection, including several sport sonnets (on swimming, skiing) with "Wayfaring" (on snowshoeing), published in the Connecticut River Review (2010).