There’s a white Chevy ice cream van
playing Greensleeves
on
my street.
As I mow the lawn I hear
the canned music.
My daughter, her brows pursed,
stops the van
and
speaks.
“What song is this, who, laid
to rest / on Sandford Ave is beeping?”
The driver is an old Italian guy
selling popsicles.
He looks at my daughter and says,
“You no like-a?
There are two other songs
on this truck.
Here
they are.”
He plays them.
My
girl winces.
“You
see?” he says.
My daughter tells him
it’s OK. Go on.
Give
us
Christmas in summer.
Give us this mixture of seasons
that flicker
for
a moment
and
then are gone.
She buys an ice pop
and he drives off,
While fireflies, their silent anthems sweet,
venture
out to play.
