She Will Always Be A Traveler

by Donald Jenkins

The amplified chime of Greensleeves fills the estate,
pricking up the ears of every child within a half mile;
like excitable metal detectors that’ve located some treasure,
we scurry along back lanes to claim our prize.
I don’t ask my mam for permission
or scramble about for spare coppers,
cos my Nana drives the ice cream van,
so, I get chocolate flakes for free.
She’s a flurry of scoops and cones,
head out hatch to work a crowd:
natural born hawker with all the best patter –
seasoned performer, seen many an encore.
I’m sure this tinny jingle reminds her of the big top
with dizzying melodies of a circus piano waltz,
where she vaulted on and off a stallion’s back,
hypnotised a python wrapped around her neck.
Does she ever miss that life she ran away to?
Chanting in a headdress with chieftain and a cowboy;
with a skirt and petticoat, she even danced the can-can.
The stories of a rebel, I could listen to for years.
I want to be just like her, try the things she’s done:
race whippets for a living, run a fairground stall.
Hope she keeps the promise to let me ride in her van,
helping sell cornets when the summer comes.