Races with Ice Cream Trucks
Shoes loose, strings flapping,
slapping against pavement
as feet meet hard, hot concrete
desperately.
Arms pumping and hands clenched,
clutching the copper-tanged victory
earned through tight-throated bartering.
The anthem of a season warps through dry heat
tauntingly receding but still overpowering
feeble chords as they cry,
frantic,
“wait! come back!”
eyes wide with panic,
palms sweating, quarters greasy.
Flecks of spit foam in the corners of mouths panting
hot sharp air
cuts through lungs like
fiber glass
and, defeat.
Susan Jarvis
I agree, this is pure art, poetry at its finest...'clutching the copper-tanged victory/earned through tight-throated bartering.' is a master touch. :)
I agree, this is pure art, poetry at its finest...'clutching the copper-tanged victory/earned through tight-throated bartering.' is a master touch. :)
heterodynemind
This is pure art. I am totally in love with it.
This is pure art. I am totally in love with it.
Oh to be that kid again! Thanks for taking me back! :)