Sharethe children
scream and jump and yell and scream
for the white steel chest,
the treasures that it brings:
patriotic rocketsicles,
sandwiches of the best kind,
unnaturally orange cones,
delightful mysteries
to a child’s mind
but now tires scream and lurch and scream
the cart jumps, like a deer,
turning and tumbling
the lid swings open
the dreams of youth scatter
popsicles of every profusion,
cold waffle cones,
shot into air
everything that rises must diverge
on arcs predictable and trite
ending on the sidewalk and the street
under the uncaring glare of the noon day sun
the worst form of blight
and the children
slowly recover
~
by Ranjit Singh Mathoda
created and copyright August 11, 2004
You can find more of my stories and poems at http://mathoda.com/stories.
