‘Number 36’ came the adolescent server’s flat, drawn out call
Though it could have been any other number
It was a Tuesday
It wouldn’t be any other night of the week
It was just past eight.
It was always just past eight
when the call would emit
some teenage employee’s lips,
heralding John’s visit.
19 short yet eager steps
from formica table to formica counter.
Just past eight,
time to exchange the slip of paper in his hand
for the goods equaling its worth.
19 steps back,
a pot in each hand,
and 2 perfectly sized plastic spoons.
One for him and one for his girl.
Eileen takes hers with a thanks
and a youthful smile.
Spoon in hand they dive in.
There was a time,
when they would order four
for two adults plus two teenagers.
A Tuesday night bribe
for helping with the shopping.
Whipped soft-serve vanilla ice cream
with a confectionary topping.
Perhaps they should have called time on this tradition
Made a last-century relic of it
After the kids’ lives moved on
Son and daughter moved out
This Tuesday night routine survived,
had become their time out
Wedding plans excitedly made with Kitkat on the tongue
Sweeping grins and giddyness over a dessert laced with Creme Egg
wrapped up in the news of their first grandchild, Riley.
Flake, the year that Ivy-Jade arrived
When life was as delicious as the Tuesday evening treat.
With Oreo’s came worry, appointments, scans and headscarves
Abandoned Tuesdays, lacking appetite
Treatment schedules and battles to be fought within their own four walls
Fear dominating the day to day
Now that the worst has passed,
he watches Eileen spoon and savour
scoop after precious scoop
so glad that it’s Tuesday at just past eight
and that he’s here with his girl.
He contemplates how he could not stand
to eat his Mcflurry alone.
Poetry for Dullards 