ICEBOX

we stand at edge of a cliff
wind blows through our hair
the cliff side is steep
below are railroad tracks
mother forbids us to go there

we watch in the distance
a green panel truck
drive up a dirt road
stop at the door
of our one room house
driver carries with tongs
a huge block of ice

we know mother is busy
with the icebox
she will not look for us
we climb down
the rocky dirt cliff
we wait for a train

–Judy L. Brekke