On Ears the Engine Falls

So here on ears the engine falls

And young boys all will leave their play.

Piping tunes through suburb walls,

the truck of treats shall make its way.

And on it may there be a brief

Of frozen fare and creamy treats.

And children, seeking frozen teeth,

Shall rush their money to the streets.

The truck will stop and so they smile.

The ice cream girl shall give a wave,

The boys have lined up, in the while,

Waiting for the treats they crave.

So through the day her only sales

Are to the boys with awestruck eyes.

Her dips and cones just for the males;

their young minds free to fantasize.

And so it was, by pull of groin,

With fingers sticky; tongues of cream,

The boys, so willing, spend their coin,

If but to be so near their dream.

A redhead girl with skin of silk,

a skirt too short and shirt too tight,

she serves the boys their treats of milk,

The boys’ real treats within their sight.

And so the mothers, never thinking

(How innocent it always seems.)

Give to sons their coins, unblinking.

“How much those boys must love their creams.”