i screech to a full stop

under the striped, faded

pink and blue

awning of a

teeny tiny ice cream shop.

there is a glass filled with

pale daises sitting primly

atop the single table,

the cut glass sending shattering rainbows

flying across rough stained wood.

i turn to my accomplice,

who looks shaken but

happy as he climbs off my bike.

"what's your favorite flavor?"