The Ice Cream Truck Poem by Mark Heathcote

The ice cream truck is approaching in the dark.
My heart is beating; it's been a long time since summer.
Now is no time for interludes in the park.
Parents won't buy my melodrama.

A taste of vanilla on my lolling tongue,  
I cry, remembering that I'm no longer four.
And reprimanded by my mother's loud bawl...
'Close your larynx now. Or else you might be hung? '

The ice cream truck's whimsy music does fade.
And mother has turned into an ice maiden.
But when spring arrives in a cascade,
of falling rose blossom, she's spoon-laden.

With a raspberry sauce, cheeks like rosy apples.
She softens, like ice cream, and cracks a smile.
Breaking wafers; sprinkles-giggles then rattles 
with laughter, begins to behave—infantile.