The pie was Blueberry, warm
ala
mode draping.
The
Malted was Chocolate,
thick,
and as malty as any
German
Lager.
The
Ice Cream Parlor with
chrome
backed seats and
marble
counter, catered to
connoisseurs
and kids alike.
The
Norwegian family
who
owned the place were,
“I
Remember Mamma”
lookalikes.
The
skinny kid who consumed
this
repast, basked in the
calories,
carbs and protein.
The
Confectionary
was concocted in the
Candy
Room, milk chocolate
waft
through the Parlor.
The
Tiffany lamps hung low
over
booths with lighting
softened
by the colored glass.
The
romance in the booths
were
with teenagers,
Ice
Cream Sodas after school.
The
El stop is no longer.
The
Parlor has left for that,
“undiscovered
land.”
The
senses remain.
The
El train rumbles
The
tastes of homemade.
The
aroma of sweets.
The
touching of hands.
The
scene in my, “mind’s eye.”
I
revisit, and they ask,
“Where
have you been?”
©TPuma/MMXXXIII
