Untitled
The ice cream truck visited Timburton every Saturday in the summer.
The jingle from the truck could be heard throughout the town.
Kids would come and play their games
and run around with ice cream cones in their hands.
Parents formed their own talking circles, spread throughout the grass field.
Some even brought TV’s and grills to kick back with their friends.
The fun lasted for hours.
It would start to get dark, and the kids would get tired.
The baseball games would end and the grills go off.
The kids wouldn’t want the fun to end, always asking for “five more minutes.”
It would take hours for everyone to leave.
*
When everyone has left, I step outside and go lay in the grass to look at the stars.
There I try to remember all the fun I had during my childhood,
wishing I could be a kid again.
William Ball
LOYOLA
BLAKEFIELD
LITARTMAG
2014
12