by Marc Carver
I hear a ice cream van's music
but it is six in the morning.
I don't think any kids will be up at this hour
then I realize it is a memory
or a trick,
something in my mind
like rusty nuts and bolts
rattling around an old tin can.
I don't even have any real desire for ice cream
not anymore.
Even when I was a kid, I could run up to the ice cream van
but rarely had any money.
Poor then
poor now
not much changes.
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