Plain Cone
By Tony Robles
Grandpa had this way
Of whistling and when I heard
It I thought of caramel corn
And ice cream
Grandpa was black, from
New Orleans and his wife
Was San Francisco Irish
But to me they were Grandpa
And Grandma
To landlords they were
Not the kind of people
You rented to
They had a child, my mother,
And they would get into their
Big post-war American made
Car and travel the landscape
And grandpa would drive
To the amusement park or
Some fun place and grandma
And my mom would get out
Of the car
Grandpa would stay inside
The car looking at the panoramic
View from the car window with
A hint of blue when the sun was
At a certain angle
And he’d whistle inside
His car while the birds
Outside whistled back
And he stayed inside the car
When his wife and daughter
Went to the ice cream parlor
“Get me a scoop
Of burgundy cherry”
He’d say
And inside the parlor there’d
Be a man who’d sample all
The flavors with a little plastic
Spoon
Grandma and mom would wait
10 minutes while the man pondered
His options, dropping stained plastic
Spoons in the trash
Then he’d casually
Proclaim to the
Man behind the counter
I think I’ll have a scoop of vanilla
Vanilla, my grandmother would
Snicker, rolling her
Eyes
And the birds outside would
Whistle at my grandfather
Sitting behind the wheel
And he’d whistle
back
© 2011 Tony Robles