Ice Cream Van Man

The waves.
They’re doing that thing again.
Going, coming, going,
like tinnitus,
the rain
a perpetual mist
chattering, pattering
just above the ground.
On the off chance,
a child will pull from
parents’ grip and scream at gulls,
they scatter, their wings ricochet
through the dropping water
and call reports of which bin has the
best throw-away-chips, it’s just constant noise.
I’ve probably lost my mind already.
People think living by the sea is a relaxing affair.
The older generation come to retire,
but the pull and push,
the constant whoosh-whoosh,
if I didn’t have children myself, I’d close up shop and
jump right off the pier.
The rain is picking up again,
no one’s buying ice cream today.

Jordan Roberts

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