Icecreams and airplanes

Two poems for you today, both written for something called 'Saturday Scribes' that I had a brief dalliance with a while ago.  Both of these were published on an old LJ account of mine but I think they are worth revisiting. 

This one makes me think of Australia, or rather, how I imagine it to be in some far-flung mining town with nothing but bush and red earth for miles. Whether they actually have ice-cream vans in Australia, I couldn't tell you.  In fact, now I come to think about it, perhaps what I'm really thinking of is this children's program, which definitely has one.

THE ICE CREAM VAN


She walks.
Kicking up dust and pebbles,
Blue shoes turning grey in the dirt.
A one-person dust-storm

In her hand grimy coins
Held safe
Grasped by sausage fingers
Bitten nails.

And in the distance she can see
A larger dust-storm than she
A melody strained and thinning
Through heat-scorched air.

A sudden flash of sun on white
The looming lumbering form
Gliding across the horizon
A mirage in the heat haze

A van in the road
Pulled to the dusty edge
Motor idling, man whistling
A window sliding open

Coins held fast in grimy fingers
She runs.

This poem of imagination and childhood dreams was also written for the Saturday scribes, although it reads like a memory, I don't think it is. My son has never been into planes or flying, unless aliens were involved.  Had it been about UFOs, then I could well imagine him gunning down imaginary grey men and crashing in area 51.

THE BOX

In the kitchen, on the floor
A cardboard carton
Within the box is a small boy child making airplane noises
With potatoes for cargo
And teddies as passengers
He flies his plane through the skies

In his cardboard fuselage
His world is transformed
He pulls on the wooden spoon prop
And leans back
Ascending higher than any four year ever has
His imagination the only limit

He sees the clouds
As they pass below him
And aliens who wave from their flying saucer
He calls out a greeting as he returns to Earth
The airport is near The runway is clear
And he lands with a flourish On the black and white tiled floor

He tells me the plane needs more fuel
Before he pilots it to Mars
I offer him provisions for the journey
Milk and biscuits An apple cut into quarters
He requests raisins for his passengers
And a banana for his crew.

Then he climbs back into his plane
A simple box
Transformed by marker pen
A plastic plate for a steering wheel
An old lipstick pushed through the cardboard
Is the ignition button
His finger touches it
And he flies.

Hope you enjoyed them and if you've any ideas for poetry prompts, feel free to leave a comment.