Like a Creamsicle


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The hiss of dew fighting daylight,
glare blinding hooded eyes,
sleepy commuters sharing their
stop-and-go anger with the halting
traffic flow. It’s Thursday.
Sun climbs in a slow jam,
curving through its psychedelic palette
from purple to red to orange and white,
Creamsicle dreams turning summers
into sticky sublime messes any kid’d
never believe might hold meaning
to his far-in-the-future, razor-nicked,
rear-view-peeking self.
A horn sounds behind him, returning
his mind to reality pocked in
red tail lights and the hiss
of whizzing traffic breakaways.
His eyes widen and search for a gap
in any median through which he might
U-turn this morning for another lick
at life’s Creamsicle that dripped away
from him in orange and white
year-drops landing on his shoe-tops
and sticky soles always kept flat to the floor.
Too bad it was while doing 80 in the passing lane.

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2 thoughts on “Like a Creamsicle

  1. Creamsicle dreams turning summers
    into sticky sublime messes any kid’d
    never believe might hold meaning
    to his far-in-the-future, razor-nicked,
    rear-view-peeking self. < loved those lines, the flash back and return to present.

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