Under the "influence" perhaps, Sir?

How did we hold the ice
When it came in slush?
And where did we take it?

Did we take it to Morbid Mammy,
Who spends her afternoons, washing?

Or did we take it to Daughter Drearie,
Who chills beneath the bronze cap
Of a vividly metaphored popsicle stick?

Did we throw it on the bin?
So that those who come next may see a bit of our fortunes,
"They may swell, Sir, you know."

I would have thought it'd have gathered by now,
Into a formidable army
That wrecks my house from underneath.

And before I know it, I cry, and cry, all the time
Till I wish I was here for yet one less evening.

For an evening well spent
Is like an evening where you make your possibilities
Double their odds, untill they are fixed in their orbit
And you cannot change your point of view.

Regardless

I thought the salt tasted well,
Well to go with the food I had ordered
In a bit of a hurry.

Because I had thoughts to catch up with.