pink
like strawberries,
as he pushed
the old cart
up the road,
his face darkened
with sun,
stopping for the children.
shaving ice
into each
handheld paper cone.
all shades and flavors
of the rainbow.
I remember him.
the splash of colors on
his apron,
his white mustache,
his smile.
did he ever speak,
that i don't remember,
i don't know.
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