Ice Cream Man
Jim Coy, ice cream man,
scoops stories for free.
Once he’d made a million easy—
milk was worth more than land then.
Lost it all and headed to school—
white hair proves wisdom
under a white cap painted yum.
That’s psychology for all
neighborhoods, no matter the flavor.
He’s known all colors, and childless,
wanted one just like him, sweeter, toothless,
got his own little black girl, wants to be a teacher,
but she’ll grow up and go away,
maybe Houston where everyone gets along—
whites, Mexicans, blacks, they’d get along.
He’ll buy a whole case of treats, lay-a-way,
down there a hundred kids gather.
He’s got twenty four ice cream sandwiches,
but these rich neighborhoods, well, it’s this,
no one around, waiting for him to appear.