when his mother was out of town with Carlos

i remember

the day

i taught my son how to make

a banana

split on the dining room table

with the big light on.

he was blue

unable to reach his mother who

had mysteriously

disappeared

with a small piece of luggage

for the weekend.

it wasn't the drug store

counter chintzy banana split,

but the real deal.

a long trough of endless goo

with

a whole banana,

three scoops

of ice-cream, mint chip,

rocky road,

and strawberry,

nuts and cherries, chocolate

and whipped

cream,

sprinkles without limits.

i put the knife in his hand

and showed him 

after we peeled the long fruit

how to cut the banana

down the middle making

two slender halves,

setting it aside as

we waited

for the ice-cream

to soften.

getting the spoons out,

shaking vigorously

the can of real whipped cream,

opening the large bag

of walnuts, both dry

and syrupy wet,

to be laid down

accordingly at the end.

crushed pineapple

was held back,

it was only our first lesson

after all

at this feel good task.

we found out later

his mother was out of town,

with Carlos,

of course.

but those were the days

and that night

he slept like a baby

with chocolate stuck to his face.