Gordon's Ice Cream Parlor

I felt that short sleeves were inappropriate

For a funeral, but my mother said

That I would swelter in my black dress shirt,

That the church had no air conditioning

And that no one would think twice.

On the ride down south we passed

The wind farms and the long black train

And Del Grosso's Amusement Park.

The altar was arrayed with a huge bouquet

And the portrait of my uncle

Was at least twenty years old.

We took our place in line

To pay our respects at the casket

And embrace his grieving widow.

We lingered and proceeded at the pace

That propriety allowed. 

There was a reception in the basement

With its kitchen and long tables.

I loaded up a styrofoam tray

With gherkins, beets, and cauliflower

Drizzled with avocado sauce

And pecan pie and coffee on the side.

My cousin had just flown in from Prestwick

And he was dressed in the full regalia

Of the United States Air Force.

The windows of the basement

Looked out upon the cemetery.

The moss and lichens blotched the ancient names

And polished granite mirrored the clouded sky,

And over the stillness of the stones

The wind stirred in the cedar rows.

We stayed the night at my uncle's home.

His mother's mimosa crowned the garden

And spiders weaved in the morning sun.

I woke up before the rest and read

From a well concealed book of Hume.

As the night fell on the marshes

My uncle took us to a place called Gordon's,

An ice cream parlor with a checkered floor

And an Evel Knievel pinball machine

By the markerboard menus.

We enjoyed ourselves as propriety allowed

With waffle cone towers of mint chocolate chip,

And when we stepped outside

The night was filled with the songs of frogs.

Reviews

[Seth Cason]

Hi Casey--
Ingenious strategy to save the visit to the ice cream parlor until the very end. Not just because of the anticipation, but also after the story's many details, all strong but sort of fragmented, the brevity of Gordon's ending with the sounds of frogs-- it suddenly made me realize the similarities by which I remember episodes of my past. It's strange, but in my own way I finally understood. And the last line itself, the song of frogs in the night, was a quiet but strong final touch. I felt I was there, reminded that despite the loss of your uncle which prompted the trip, life goes on, it's happening right now, and eventually the frogs will chill out and the sun will rise.

[Casey Truax]

Life goes on indeed. Thank you for responding.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This is a well told tale Casey. The images you described are easy to imagine and see in the minds eye. I have been to a few wakes in my day and your tale took me back to each one. Job well done and thank you for sharing your art with us.

[mattavelli]

Hello, Casey! :)
This is a lovely story. Thanks for sharing.