ode to FanIce

Oh be still, be still my beating heart
When I hear the honk honk of the FanIce cart.
The melodious sound haunts me all through the day
Until I cave, dig around in my pockets and pay
the 40 pesuas that convert to roughly a quarter.
What a steal. For the best treat within Ghana's borders.
On the days when I'm mopping my sweat with a rag,
you are the only consolation, FanIce (ice cream in a bag).
It seems so simple, should be universal, for goodness sake
Not quite fro-yo, not quite soft serve, not quite a milkshake
Thou art the best of every world, full of mysteries
Like how the vendors keep you frozen on their heads when it's
     100 degrees
And what ingredients you contain- 'cause I think they might
     include crack
Or how the package can possibly claim to hold a "healthy snack"
No, you really can't be good for me, must be against all smart
     eating rules
But I live in ignorant bliss because I can't convert kilojoules
to calories. And I wouldn't if I could.
Because, my dear Fanny, you are just that good.
I try to limit myself to just one a week
And when that day comes, I jump! I freak!
I tear off your top left corner with my pointy teeth
And slurp, while your residue encircles my lips like a wreath.
I am filled with the taste of all things right in this world:
Of puppies and cake batter and the tutus I used to wear when I
     twirled
You taste like snowmen we jokingly made quite voluminous
Of Christmas and eggnog, of clouds that are cumulus
Of pillows and fog and kamp's blueberry fluff
Of marshmallows gently singed just enough
Promise me you'll never change, Fanny Fan, will ya?
For you have single-handedly restored my faith in vanilla
And now each time I indulge, you disappear way too fast
And I fear our relationship might not always last
So I'll try to enjoy and cherish you before I return home
And am left with your lame older brother. Who comes in a cone.