Best Served Cold

I’ve learned my bitter

lesson, to never ask a

question on our city’s

Facebook group.

Does anyone know

if there’s a Dairy Queen

in town?

—Yeah, it’s at 33 Google Lane

There’s no reason

to be an asshat. Maybe I was

lonely, just sparking a conversation

in the night. Had no one

else to talk to

when the winds were from the north,

and stars were spelling

Loser where Orion

usually dwells, ignored

& most forlorn, none with which

to share a celebration.

And FYI, it’s not some run-

of-the-mill DQ ,

the one on Google Lane,

but one in which they’ll

carry you on their backs,

sing you Happy Birthday

in the sun—

and their ice cream

never melts, regardless if it’s

30+ above, no matter how

many candles blaze

at the top of your Blizzard

cake,

and I’ll never-ever

invite you for a scoop,

walk you to the beach

(the most pristine one

in the world,

at the end of the road 

I bet you thought

could not be real),

in spite of the

teary regrets

you’ll no doubt offer,

emojis I will savour

on my phone, such weeps

& wails of sorrow,

your delicious,

frozen sorrow.

Andreas Gripp

May 18, 2025

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