‘Mango, strawberry, apple pie –
On a cone, with chocolate on top’,
Were his last words
Before

His blood swirled through the strawberry
Like ice-cream sauce. On the floor
A Picasso
Made from flesh.

On the pavement a mother finds
One of his hands. Beneath rubble
His head plays hide
And seek.

The boy ‘could and should have done more’,
Says Piers Morgan, to root out the
Extremists who
Made him into ice-cream.

Yet inside black gold palaces
The root grows, the preachers are paid,
With swords dancing
To $110bn.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

— Sheamonspeare
http://facebook.com/sheamonspeare

This poem is dedicated to the victims of the Karrada district (Baghdad) bombing, which killed 27 civilians (as of recent reporting) as they visited a popular ice cream parlour after breaking their fast during Ramadhan.
Twitter thread on the incident: https://twitter.com/Hayder_alKhoei/status/869313880262103041
More info: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/middle-east/baghdad-attack-suicide-bomb-isis-ramadan-iraq-ice-cream-karrada-dead-injured-latest-updates-a7762406.html