The child watched the ice cream truck
As it pulled to a stop on his block.
High and jovial music rang from it’s speakers on top.
No other children came running.
It was him alone.
He approached the ice cream truck,
A dollar clenched in his small fist,
To get his ice cream cone.
The nice lady inside of the truck seemed to anticipate him,
She beckoned him over with a wide grin.
“Why don’t you come back and pick out a flavor,
Won’t it be a treat to see what’s inside?”
With but a nod of his happy head
The child trotted back as the doors opened
And stepped inside to a cold museum.
When the child came home later that night,
Oh he gave his mother such a fright,
And she screamed until his father came in,
Who fainted at the sight of his son’s empty eye sockets.
He only laughed and kept on smiling.
“Moma, Popa, it’s alright.”
He assured them, blood dripping down his cheeks,
As if tears of Hades he was to weep,
“The nice lady scooped my eyes out,”
To keep them on ice,
They’ll make an excellent topping at a different time.”