summer poem # 19

we visited the ben and jerry factory
near our vermont cottage a popular
stop for tourists and locals alike a   
little kid tipped his cone the pink ball
of ice cream flew out I caught
it in my
unhygienic hand slapped it back into
his cone before he got out
the wail
rising in his anguished throat he gazed
at his treat hiccupped
as I melted into
the crowd licking my peppermint palm
his mother never
saw a thing

This article appears in Aug 25-31, 2016.