the ice cream truck

as a kid
you had no patience
for stamp
collecting,
or in collecting
coins
and slipping them
into
the appropriate
slots of a fold up
blue book.
that ambitious
hobby
lasted a month
or two,
nickels and dimes,
quarters,
even half
dollars with
Kennedy's profile
shiny
on the front
with his
hair combed as you
tried to do,
but then the ice
cream truck would
roll slowly
through the neighborhood,
the music,
a sweet siren,
its tinny,
xylophone ping
echoing around
the hot summer streets,
how quickly
you would spend
the mercury dimes,
the buffalo
nickels, the john
kennedy half dollar,
stately
in his slot,
all for the sake of
a nutty buddy.