Icebox Days

A seething summer morning in the oil boom trailer park Oral Roberts on the radio with the gospel told by Mark The reek 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 shows his Sunday best Down the drive comes Danny, on his mighty motor bike Hanging on the handlebars, his bigger 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 sidles round the truck and casts the canvas back Scores a hundred-pounder block and cleaves it with a whack Tongs the icy burden to his back and laughs at what is left Chunks and chips 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 chips and with our bellies iced We swagger off to brag about our frosty jewelry 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 January 30, 2013