the ice cream truck

I remember the unemployment
office
in the 1970's.
the squat red brick building
in Beltsville Maryland.
the long lines
the waiting.
a dreadful time
in so many ways.
sitting for hours
until it was your turn
to prove
you had skills, that you
were unemployed
through no fault of your own.
the check per week was
less than
a hundred dollars.
better than nothing, I said
to my friend john.
we earned it, we both said.
we worked all year
before the lay off, now
it's time
for us to get something
for nothing.
we looked for another job together.
our long hair, his beard,
and beret, our youth keeping
us from doing much
in the world
but painting houses,
cutting grass, or driving
an ice cream truck.
our classes at the community
college did nothing
for our short resumes.

john's been dead for over
two years now.

when I hear the bells
and music of the truck
as I sit on the front porch
alone, I watch as it rolls
slowly down the block.
the children
appear out of nowhere
running as they always have
every summer,
burnished with sun,
in their bare feet, with
money clutched
in their tender hands.