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Thursday, July 28, 2016

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.

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