Fudgsicles

It was a single stroke of genius,

an oasis in a desert of a bungled day

when I decided

Fudgsicles

should be given to heat-afflicted homeless people.

Deacon Frank and I paraded around

a homeless camp,

no Pied Piper needed,

no out-of-tune tinny music on an endless loop

like the summertime daily attraction of my childhood.

Our homeless friends found us in all our abundance,

dishing out one here, two there,

and the numbers grew, another and another

and then the wave broke.

We stood around, finally,

talking survival, clutching our

thawing boxes,

happy homeless friends with

chocolate running down,

chocolaty lips smacking,

the delicate savoring

of the stick.

As we left, we offered the remains,

and found reluctant takers

one here, one there.

The last one offered is declined.

“I’m fudged out!”

and we laughed together.

It is as it should be for all of us at times.

That abundance.

You may not have a roof over your head,

you may be overwhelmed with life

you may have a really crappy day,

but then

Fudgsicles.