Am I the ice cream man?

Why else would the streets

Fill & living rooms echo? 

Rose gardens smell of vanilla

On Las Palmas as vowels

Of celebration turn letters

Into words; neighborhood

Streets are blindly happy,

Like a dream or maternity

Ward. “Forza Juve!” from

A random window: whoop

It up. No need to know

The score. The other team

Always loses but that’s

How hope gets invented.

Tomorrow is no luxury. 

Here comes an ordinary 

Man stripped clean 

By madness, sharpened 

By the attendant sanity.

The sweetest moments

Stick to a stick, frozen 

In time. Crunch bars 

And popsicles are free today: 

Come & get ‘em.