“Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos.”
- Don Kardong
They were a year ahead of me in school, two of my buddies that worked at a fast food place out on the Baltimore strip. Our small town didn't have many of those. I stopped by one evening when they were closing up, just the two of them. I hadn't been driving long. The new freedom was a heady thing. I could do whatever. I hung out while they filled napkin dispensers and wiped down tables. They had a little radio on the counter. It was cranked to our only option, “KIRX 1450 in Kirksville." It vibrated from the volume. One tune faded out and the next up was…China Grove. Are you kidding!? You know that intro, don't you? It was too much to contain. One of us grabbed a mop and when it arrived, played a magnificent air guitar on the solo. It might have been me.
Rocking At The DQ
Jim Daniels
Alex, the manager, turned off the pale neon,
locked the sliding glass windows,
and cranked up Hendrix on the stereo
in the back room of the Dairy Queen
owned by his father. He wailed on
air guitar while I wielded a mop
against the sticky floors and gathered up
the cold wet rags of the day, while I mixed
sugar and water for tomorrow's slushes ---
that, and food coloring, is all they are.
People shelling out good money
to get those killer headaches, go figure.
“With the power of soul anything is possible.”
I was fifteen and just beginning to figure.
Alex sprouted gold chains across chest hair
while I shaved fuzz off my upper lip and stared
through Renee and Crystal's white uniforms.
Alex wanted to be in a band of gypsies,
but all signs pointed to a lifetime of slushes,
double dips, Mr. Misty's, Fudge Brownie Delights,
chocolate-covered bananas and Dilly Bars.
“We Gotta Live Together.” He forced me
to clap along, though I lost the rhythm
in feedback and static. Hendrix would be dead
soon enough, no surprise to anyone. Alex chained
by gold, even if it was a little sticky.
I made 85 cents an hour, and my loyalty
was often questioned. "We Gotta Live
Together." I jumped on trash in the dumpster
to make room for more. He rubber-banded cash
with his pudgy fingers. I was grateful
to be there, on top of the trash. Hendrix's
guitar screeching out the open back door.