waffle cone

the sun pounded down
on the city
like an iron fist
in a velvet glove

the sounds
of the ice cream truck
ever closer
as the children
for cash

he sits
behind the wheel
of his mobile freezer
with blank anguish
drawn in neon
his lined face

the heat of the day
the cheerful song
the ache of loss
like subsonic bass
his every breath

bomb pops
soft serve
and other assorted
frozen treats

all he managed to serve
was a triple scoop
of inescapable void
in a waffle cone

3 thoughts on “waffle cone

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