at the custard stand is long.
it could be 1930.
everyone
in white,
or pale blue.
the women with hats
and light dresses.
the men, polite
in khaki, polished shoes.
it's summertime.
there are dogs, and children.
sweethearts holding hands.
old folk too.
who doesn't like cold custard
on a cone.
the sweet innocence
of ice cream.
this is what makes life
worth living.
a short breath of fresh air,
and for a moment.
nothing seems wrong.
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