The sound is different depending on what species hits it
The grackles are all beak and their smack is tinny
The jays are more a thud
But they all die the same way
Fluttering on the ground
We keep a shovel and a yard-waste bag handy
Hear that? It's the ice-cream truck
It sounds different now
The kids all run behind it
Last year Caleb Turgess ran in front of it
They have since changed the song
I watch my sister walk to the truck
from our kitchen's large, picture glass window
The same one I was at on Caleb's last day
He was a short, round boy
made the sound of a jay
lil _refugee_ humanodon, cW -I wrote a poem :) First poem I have spontaneously written in a very, very long time. I was sitting on my couch, hubskiing when I heard a thud. The bird is fine. But then I started thinking about the sound I heard and about what it would be like to live in an actual house of glass. The death that constantly occur via those thuds. Then my imagination went wild.... I like this though. I like how the last line is so dark but is the first with any rhyme.
Dude: I like it a lot! There's rhyme at the end, but I also loved the grackles that go smack and repeating the hard "k" in beak, and the "u" sound in "thud" and "fluttering." I think also about things hitting things. I often yell, "Don't hit me." - mostly to motorists or cyclists. My train hit a "trespasser" who "didn't make it." Another Caleb Turgess perhaps. I speculate, "Would you rather get hit be a train or an ice cream truck?" Meanwhile, back in the glass house. Could bird-window be suicide, like the cows: A spokesman for Network Rail said up to five cows had been killed, and confirmed they first received a report of livestock in the area at 8.50pm.
and from, time to time, the heart-broken dolphins?
Speaking of death and ice-cream... Anyway, I really liked this. Especially: Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. Take from the dresser of deal.
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
*** -- Wallace Stevens, "The Emperor of Ice-Cream"
The kids all run behind it
Last year Caleb Turgess ran in front of it
They have since changed the song
Thanks, I'm glad you dug it. Also, thanks for the Wallace Stevens poem.