THE SODA FOUNTAIN 

Three sets of saddle shoes swept through the door

Three sets of saddle shoes scuffed tile on the floor

Up to the soda fountain and the red padded chrome

Giggling and laughing just like at home.

Plopped down on a stool and turned once about.

The twirl was a signal so glad to be out.

Pretty gams dangling, a life of their own

Back and forth nervous swinging, not yet quite grown!

Only fourteen and fifteen, eyes of blue and of brown.

Didn’t have to try hard to make themselves known

Precocious behavior is not all of that.

Innocence still shines under saucy barrettes.

And still they rushed, right up to a stool, 

In spite of themselves trying to look very cool.

A little too loud, a little too girlie, 

A little young to impress, a little too early.

The other side of the counter, a handsome young man,

With his soda jerk uniform, in his summer kissed tan.

Jerked cherry phosphates, each girl vied for his wink,

Saturday last, each about spilled over their drink.

Their hearts all aflutter, he’d been the dream of the week,

Hearts full of imagine, if they could talk, they would speak.

Some things don’t need sayin’, that’s ever so true,

One look from him would last the week through.

One year makes a difference, he seventeen,

Was looking at past and future unseen,

He called out an order, “Adam and Eve on a raft!”

“Two poached eggs on toast!” Next year the draft!

For ‘cross the floor in a booth, two lovers just sat,

Trying to find words to say this and that, 

He in his Bomber Jacket, looking very mature,

She in her high heels doing best to assure.

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They tried to uplift and play something bright,

Nickled Chattanooga Choo Choo before day turned to night

Each wishing they could go back just for a year

Dance and play music with nothing to fear.

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To be continued…

​ By Flo Lawrence