Saturday, April 27, 2013

Ice-Cream Trucks and Mysteries of the Universe: A Poem

There are mysteries in the universe.

Why does the ice-cream truck play "It's a Grand Old Flag?"

Why are some dreams as grave as woodcuts?

Especially when death's their theme?

Why is grass green but sky blue?

Where'd she dream that shade of red for her hair?

Why does the phone ring only when I purée fruit and my hands are stuck in glop?

Why does my nose itch at the very same moment?

When and how can I get that dratted ice-cream tune out of my head?

And that scary canned voice that comes with it--Hello, hello!--

As if some gape-mawed giant lives inside the truck, luring hapless children to her lair?

The graphic: I find this photo of an old ice-cream truck at a number of websites online, with no indication of its owner. It appears on a website for Pars Ice Cream in Detroit, but I don't see any indication there or elsewhere that this is a Pars ice-cream truck and that Pars owns the photo. If I've failed to give proper attribution to the owner, I apologize.

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