Satan's Ice Cream Truck

"I'd kill for a damned ice cream cone."

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SATAN'S ICE CREAM TRUCK

Discordant noises and screeches of the damned
jingle together like an Elfman score on crack.
First brooding and dark, then sickly sweet;
the song of an angel having a heart attack.

Departing from the corner of Rot and Sin,
and following a regular route,
it offers heartache and poison and soul decay
disguised as cream, sugar and fruit.

Slinking through your neighborhood on a hot summer day
with promises of chilled seduction,
your children are begging for quarters and dimes
to purchase a taste of corruption.

You hear its darkly melancholic jaunt
as a whisper in the back of your brain,
it rounds the corner onto your street
and begins its madhouse reel once again.

With numb fingers and soul, you proffer your cash
while bargaining for treats from its stores.
The man smiles a smile that never touches his eyes
while opening frost-rimed freezer doors.

He withdraws something that wriggles on its stick
beneath a wrapper of seeming purity.
Handing it to you with a grin and a lick -
your soul’s protest fades to obscurity.

You gobble and slurp with sexual abandon
the morsel of carnal delight,
Ignoring the maggots and spiritual death,
temptation covering the blight.

Having sold your soul for a moments respite
from the heat of day to day living,
your only chance lies in the Grace of a God
whom you can hope is truly forgiving.

So guard your soul well, and that of your kin,
when you hear the siren song of the damned.
For Satan can only fool you with your consent -
those with Faith can never be scammed.

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Shared with those hot & hungry kids over at DVerse Poets

©2013 Christopher Reilley 

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