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The Turn

By
It’s strange
What we remember
The ice cream man
In his silly pink truck
A white flag hoisted on top
Shaking in the wind
Tingles in our stomachs
As that tune
Floated through
A summer day –
A man peaks out of the truck window
His skin rusty
His voice new and different
Bringing us places far away
Then that warm hand
As coins drop from my fingertips
He smiles strangely
His bushy moustache prowling upward
Like a snake
And then we wait
But he turns –
The truck
Dancing away
Music lingering
That sick feeling
Creeping into my stomach
The sun heaving on my back
But then the picture fades
Falling into its hazy depths
And I see the white flag
Waving goodbye





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