Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
Icebox Days
A bone dry summer morning in the oil boom trailer park
Oral Roberts on the radio with the gospel told by Mark
The smell of raw petroleum is everywhere around
We little oil trash urchins play marbles on the ground
He drives out here most every day around the hour of nine
Checking all the trailer windows for a little cardboard sign
He parks the canvas-covered truck and dons his leather vest
Throws a tow sack o'er his back and looks his Sunday best
Down the street comes Danny, on his fancy motor bike
Sitting on the handlebars, his little brother Mike
The engine makes a ton of noise, a dandy double stroke
Two baseball cards and clothespins, hitting every spoke
Our ragamuffin gang was gathered, just waiting for the time
To contrive our evil strategy and carry out our crime
“The iceman, the iceman!”, I hear my sisters say
“Y'all be quiet!”, I hiss to them,” You'll give us all away!”
The iceman goes around the truck and shoves the canvas back
Scores a hundred-pounder block and cleaves it with a whack
Tongs the hefty burden to his back and smiles at what is left
Chunks and bits of frozen jewels, the targets of our theft
We want so hard to play it cool and act like we don't care
All our mouths fill up with drool and it's tricky not to stare
The iceman winks his eye at me and hides a little grin
Then walks up to the trailer door where mother lets him in
The moment that the door slams shut, the bandits make their play
With eyes lit up, we whoop and shout like kids on holiday
We suck up all the chunks and bits and with our bellies iced
We swagger off to brag about our frosty jewel heist
It's true we didn't have a lot, perhaps enough to just scrape by
But the visit from the iceman was like Christmas in July
And when I pass through oilfield country, it never ceases to amaze
How the scent of raw petroleum brings back those icebox days
See "About this poem" above the title for the notes and references
|
|
|