Village of Okauchee

They still do fish fry

in every corner tap

on Friday nights,

and all the restaurants

dim the lights,

have an overpriced

family style, la-di-dah flap.

It’s not all fried, but it’s

mostly frozen cod,

and there’s too many potato choices

and, yes, my god,

they even serve salads

instead of creamy cole slaw,

if you ask,

which, honestly, should be

against the law. Really.

Growing up in a country village,

there were only a few choices,

Magowan’s and Roundy’s

and my family’s favorite,

by a chorus of voices,

Stitch & Mary’s on the lake,

with all the joy

anyone could take.

Friday was fish,

always perch, always fried,

and fries and cole slaw and little rye rounds.

Saturday was chicken,

always fried, to put on the pounds,

and mashed potatoes and overcooked squash.

The men all smoked, the woman danced,

we kids played pinball, easily entranced,

and drank some deliciously sweet lemon drink

that led to type two diabetes, I think.

No wine that I remember,

but lots of beer for the older ones,

and usually an Old Fashioned,

just to top off the fun.

Sunday was church and a picnic,

But not in the winter,

and sometimes not the church part either.

I’m pretty sure

none of this was healthy,

but living where

we do now,

with lots of specialties

but no traditions, no wow,

the memories are savory,

the recollections sweet,

and somehow we’re still standing

on dream-filled feet.