would roll
by after dinner and sit
in front of our house.
we'd scramble for coins.
as he sat there playing
the music.
sitting on his stool
dressed in a white
t-shirt and white apron.
how gently he would
hold the wafer cones
beneath the cold
twist of ice cream, folding
down from the metal
spigot. three swirls for
small, five for large.
then off he'd go.
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