The Midnight Ice Cream Truck
tunes and bells and quiet urgency
the midnight ice cream truck turns on
Belleview and Mississippi and Lakeside
it passes one AM and stops for no one
you run after it because you are curious
or perhaps you want a popsicle
the midnight ice cream truck stops once
and you round the side. breathing
hard and wrapping your hands around
your stomach. three blocks is tough
when its one AM and you had no idea
an ice cream truck was up too.
“isn’t that funny” they say and then
“what do you want” and you don’t
remember what it was you were
craving. but the driver has already
reached back. did you speak? did you
order the right thing? why does
the midnight ice cream truck driver
have a face that you forget as soon as
they turn around and there is a
red white and blue popsicle. the shittiest
kind. it is exactly what you wanted.
“how much is it” and “how much is what?”
and “the ice cream, of course” and
your pockets are empty of course
and the mystery face smiles while
tipping their ice cream truck hat
the truck makes no noise turning on
North. there is only the tight music
from the speaker glued to the top of
the midnight ice cream truck.
the popsicle is sweet. and shitty.