nutty buddy

the ice cream
truck awakens me as I recover
with a patch
on one eye.
the grit of something
beneath the lid
making me blink.
but the truck with its
repeating
tune of elongated notes
brings me
to the window
where the children
in the court run wild,
having not had ice cream
since yesterday.
I can see them clearly
now.
the white of their teeth,
the color of their eyes,
the brown of their
long hair or short.
they scream
and run in all directions
to get the money
needed for a snow
cone, a creamsicle,
or nutty buddy.
my favorite.