The Sound of Childhood
The sound of childhood unleashes a yearning , my attention darts away from Raul Sanchez , whose poetic words I was slowly savoring , his voice became leaves shivering in the wind .
Looking east , I see a baby blue ice cream truck , it crosses 15th , as it travels north up Hoyt Avenue . A part of me wants to run — the way I did as a child , gripping all my loose change , eager for a chilled sweet .
The music of this magical truck , a sound silenced by COVID , speaks to the return of near normalcy , even as many of us continue to wear masks .
My ears stretch north , hopeful to hear the music grow nearer , I am eager to pull out my wallet , to taste a fudge bar , or something with nuts .
I lean into the setting sun , a smile reaches my eyes , anticipation trembles on my lips , The child I was stares at an old man , it fails to recognize .
“ The line between is often blurry . “ © 2023 By Duane Kirby Jensen , 9 x 12 ” ink and pen on Yupo Medium
46 ART CHOWDER MAGAZINE