The ice cream truck
The ice cream truck is approaching in the dark |
My hearts beating, itís a long time till summer
Now is no time for interludes to the park
Parents wonít buy making my melodrama.
A taste of vanilla on my lolling tongue
I cry remembering Iím no longer four
Then Iím reminded by my motherís own bawl
Close your larynx or, youíll be sure to get hung.
The ice cream truck and it's whimsy music fade
And my motherís turned into an ice maiden
But when spring summer arrives in a cascade
Of falling rose blossom, sheís spoon laden.
With raspberry sauce; cheeks like rosy apples
She softens with the ice cream and cracks a smile
Breaking wafers; sprinkles giggles then rattles
With laughter begins to behave infantile.
By Mark Heathcote
© 2019 Mark Heathcote
(All rights reserved)