My Dad the Ice Cream Man
On the lookout for a memorized pattern of lights,
in between slaps of meat and beans on tortilla shells.
A welcome taste of chocolate and ice cream
that kept us going through the long weekend nights.
Stuck inside the taco of fast food,
the visit of the Schwan man gave us a taste of the outside.
The doors open--a smile and my dad,
"Good evening--ice cream anyone?"
Cold cream fills my mouth, covering my taste buds,
blanketing my tongue with pure delight,
the chocolate sends sparks to my nerves,
my eyes close and lips curve up.
Another Friday night stolen by taco john,
redeemed with an ice cream sandwich.
By Kendra Maurer
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