asleep on ice

are they sleeping
my son would say
from the steel
grate seat of the shopping
cart, twisting his
head to see
the limber lines
of rockfish
and flounder
on chipped ice
that glistened
behind the glass.
are they sleeping, dad,
he'd ask. his
small hands gripping
the red vinyl bar
where a hundred
other kids sat this
weekend,
and i'd say, yes, but
just for awhile,
like me, they like
to take an
occasional nap
before dinner.