“Dessert”
After totaling the dinner bill
we had just enough left for bus fare
back to New Jersey high school seminary
after our annual day in Philadelphia.
We had to say, “No, thank you,”
when the waitress asked about dessert
but she smiled at us in our black suits,
white shirts, and black ties then said,
“Boys, it’s on the house.” The next day
and all the remaining days dessert
at boarding school could be canned fruit
or institutional cookies they probably
served to men on death row so
when she placed in front of us thick slices
of ice cream cake we looked like Columbus
seeing the shoreline. I don’t know
her name but I still thank her in my heart
for that French vanilla ice cream swirled
like Christmas ribbon throughout frosted
chocolate cake sweet as a stranger’s kindness
one long ago night in the City of Brotherly Love.