A Poem for Summer

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.