Dave Bonta's short poem feels like a small, odd dream told in a few plain lines. It begins with a surreal image: ice and snow walk into a tavern, and people actually demand them. Cold things are wanted in a place we usually associate with warmth, and the poem treats this as completely ordinary. That calm tone is part of the joke, and part of the strangeness.
Then the speaker steps in with two equally odd actions: kissing a lady on a card, and talking with a whistle. Both are affectionate or playful, yet neither involves a real person or a real voice. A picture and a sound stand in for company and conversation.
The title, "Funny tastes," ties it together. Everyone here wants something a little unexpected, and the speaker is no exception. The mood is light, whimsical and slightly lonely, as if the poem is smiling at human quirks while hinting that we sometimes settle for strange substitutes. Judging by the imagery, it invites you to enjoy the oddness rather than solve it.