From blocks away we heard the mechanical
music the ice cream truck chimed all over
the neighborhood, calling to kids like the Pied
Piper as we darted into our houses begging
our parents for change to buy Nutty Buddies
and banana popsicles, orange pushups
and ice cream sandwiches. Once the truck
stopped on our street, we swooped like seagulls
around the open window so the ice cream man
could take our money and hand out whatever
treats we asked for, which were always better
than we remembered from the last time his boxy,
hand-painted truck rolled around—the cold,
creamy confections freezing our tongues and
sliding down our parched throats as fast as we
could eat them—the taste of summer lingering
just long enough to make us wish for more.
music the ice cream truck chimed all over
the neighborhood, calling to kids like the Pied
Piper as we darted into our houses begging
our parents for change to buy Nutty Buddies
and banana popsicles, orange pushups
and ice cream sandwiches. Once the truck
stopped on our street, we swooped like seagulls
around the open window so the ice cream man
could take our money and hand out whatever
treats we asked for, which were always better
than we remembered from the last time his boxy,
hand-painted truck rolled around—the cold,
creamy confections freezing our tongues and
sliding down our parched throats as fast as we
could eat them—the taste of summer lingering
just long enough to make us wish for more.
"Ice Cream Truck" by Terri Kirby Erickson, from A Lake of Light and Clouds. © Press 53, 2014.
I remember those days. Some of the best days of my life.
ReplyDeleteI remember the Good Humor Man like it was yesterday. Then as a parent, how long was it between you telling your kids it was a music truck, till they discovered it had ice cream on it?
ReplyDelete