#cafe - Hello Poetry

Dave was cleaning out a shelf behind the counter at the Vinyl Café when Kenny Wong arrived carrying a battered notebook held together with some hockey tape, and brown packing tape, some loose staples and a prayer or two. "Look what I found," said Kenny. Dave looked up. "If that's evidence, burn it." "It's our list." Dave's face went pale. Every boy has a list. Not a written list. A mental list. A record of all the things that seemed like excellent ideas right up until the moment they weren't. Kenny, unfortunately, had written theirs down. On the front cover, in crooked pencil, were the words: "Experiments and Challenges for Becoming Men." Dave groaned. "We spelled 'becoming' wrong," said Kenny. "That is not the problem." They sat at the counter flipping pages. There were checkmarks beside things like building ramps for bicycles, riding shopping carts downhill, testing whether frozen puddles could support a person, and seeing who could hold their breath the longest. Every page contained proof that boys possess confidence far in excess of useful knowledge. Kenny laughed so hard he nearly fell off his stool. "Remember the cardboard sleds?" Dave nodded. "I still have a scar shaped like Saskatchewan." "And the bicycle jump?" "Which bicycle jump?" Kenny thought for a moment. "Good point." About then Max wandered into the Café looking for a cookie and some advice. He found neither. Instead he found Kenny and Dave staring at the notebook. "What's that?" asked Max. Dave and Kenny exchanged a glance. It was the sort of glance that has launched countless regrettable adventures. "History," said Kenny. "Very important history," said Dave. Twenty minutes later they were seated around a table while Kenny explained that before the internet, boys entertained themselves by making mistakes in person, without the aid of tik tok, or any of the other platforms that now put stupid ideas in young boys heads. Max was fascinated. Dave kept adding disclaimers. "Most of these were terrible ideas." "Very terrible," agreed Kenny. Then he smiled. "But memorable, man were they memorable. Not just by us either. The police, the neighbors, teachers and your Grandma. She never forgot." Max spent the afternoon listening to stories about cardboard toboggans, homemade forts, bicycle crashes, and experiments that ended with somebody's mother yelling from a porch, or police cars driving past slowly if they happened to see Dave or Kenny walking together. The stories grew larger with every telling. By the time Kenny finished, Dave and Kenny sounded less like children and more like poorly supervised stuntmen. Max listened with wide eyes. The next morning, Dave found Max in the kitchen holding a nine-volt battery. "What are you doing?" asked Dave. "Science." Dave should have recognized the danger immediately. Unfortunately, "science" was exactly what he and Kenny had called most of their mistakes. A short time later Max appeared at the Café looking puzzled. "I think my retainer is acting funny," he said. "Funny how?" asked Kenny. Max tilted his head. Somewhere, faintly, through the metal in the retainer came the crackling sound of a distant radio station. Kenny nearly inhaled his coffee. Dave stared. A voice emerged from Max's mouth. "...and now today's weather..." Max looked alarmed. Kenny looked delighted. "He's picking up AM radio!" "He's not a radio," said Dave. The weather report continued. Max opened and closed his mouth. The signal got louder. Kenny was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "This is the greatest thing I've ever seen." "No," said Dave. "The greatest thing you've ever seen was when Jimmy Peters launched himself into Mrs. Callahan's rhubarb patch." "Second greatest." Max stood perfectly still. "Can you make it stop?" Before Dave could answer, the front door opened. Morley walked in carrying groceries. She stopped. Max was standing rigidly. Kenny was laughing. Dave looked guilty. The radio forecast was coming from somewhere in the room. Morley immediately understood more than she wanted to. "What happened?" Nobody spoke. "Dave." "It's not exactly what it looks like." "What does it look like?" "Two middle-aged men accidentally created a human transistor radio." Morley put down the groceries. "Why?" Dave pointed at Kenny. Kenny pointed at Dave. Max pointed at the notebook. Morley picked it up. She read the title. She closed her eyes. "Experiments and Challenges for Becoming Men." The silence that followed was profound. "You showed him this?" "For historical, educational purposes," said Kenny. "Educational and historical ," said Dave. "Educational?" said Morley. "Mostly." Morley flipped through the pages. Each page made her expression worse. "You two survived this?" "Barely," said Dave. "This explains a lot," said Morley. She handed the notebook back. "New rule." Dave didn't like the sound of that. Kenny liked it even less. "From now on," said Morley, "if either of you wants to teach Max life lessons, I approve them first." "That seems extreme," said Kenny. "You turned my son into an AM radio station. Nobody listens to AM anymore, so....I don't what I should be madder about." "Fair point." Max suddenly perked up. "Traffic report coming." Everyone listened. Sure enough, a traffic report emerged from his retainer. Morley sat down. Even she had to laugh. Not much. But enough. Dave looked relieved. Kenny looked proud. Max looked famous. And somewhere in a drawer at the Vinyl Café sat an old notebook containing all the reasons boys should never be left unsupervised—and all the reasons they usually are.

0

2d ago

May 31, 2026 at 7:21 PM UTC

roger-turner

Because

Dave was cleaning out a shelf behind the counter at the Vinyl Café when Kenny Wong arrived carrying a battered notebook held together with some hockey tape, and brown packing tape, some loose staples and a prayer or two. "Look what I found," said Kenny. Dave looked up. "If that's evidence, burn it." "It's our list." Dave's face went pale. Every boy has a list. Not a written list. A mental list. A record of all the things that seemed like excellent ideas right up until the moment they weren't. Kenny, unfortunately, had written theirs down. On the front cover, in crooked pencil, were the words: "Experiments and Challenges for Becoming Men." Dave groaned. "We spelled 'becoming' wrong," said Kenny. "That is not the problem." They sat at the counter flipping pages. There were checkmarks beside things like building ramps for bicycles, riding shopping carts downhill, testing whether frozen puddles could support a person, and seeing who could hold their breath the longest. Every page contained proof that boys possess confidence far in excess of useful knowledge. Kenny laughed so hard he nearly fell off his stool. "Remember the cardboard sleds?" Dave nodded. "I still have a scar shaped like Saskatchewan." "And the bicycle jump?" "Which bicycle jump?" Kenny thought for a moment. "Good point." About then Max wandered into the Café looking for a cookie and some advice. He found neither. Instead he found Kenny and Dave staring at the notebook. "What's that?" asked Max. Dave and Kenny exchanged a glance. It was the sort of glance that has launched countless regrettable adventures. "History," said Kenny. "Very important history," said Dave. Twenty minutes later they were seated around a table while Kenny explained that before the internet, boys entertained themselves by making mistakes in person, without the aid of tik tok, or any of the other platforms that now put stupid ideas in young boys heads. Max was fascinated. Dave kept adding disclaimers. "Most of these were terrible ideas." "Very terrible," agreed Kenny. Then he smiled. "But memorable, man were they memorable. Not just by us either. The police, the neighbors, teachers and your Grandma. She never forgot." Max spent the afternoon listening to stories about cardboard toboggans, homemade forts, bicycle crashes, and experiments that ended with somebody's mother yelling from a porch, or police cars driving past slowly if they happened to see Dave or Kenny walking together. The stories grew larger with every telling. By the time Kenny finished, Dave and Kenny sounded less like children and more like poorly supervised stuntmen. Max listened with wide eyes. The next morning, Dave found Max in the kitchen holding a nine-volt battery. "What are you doing?" asked Dave. "Science." Dave should have recognized the danger immediately. Unfortunately, "science" was exactly what he and Kenny had called most of their mistakes. A short time later Max appeared at the Café looking puzzled. "I think my retainer is acting funny," he said. "Funny how?" asked Kenny. Max tilted his head. Somewhere, faintly, through the metal in the retainer came the crackling sound of a distant radio station. Kenny nearly inhaled his coffee. Dave stared. A voice emerged from Max's mouth. "...and now today's weather..." Max looked alarmed. Kenny looked delighted. "He's picking up AM radio!" "He's not a radio," said Dave. The weather report continued. Max opened and closed his mouth. The signal got louder. Kenny was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "This is the greatest thing I've ever seen." "No," said Dave. "The greatest thing you've ever seen was when Jimmy Peters launched himself into Mrs. Callahan's rhubarb patch." "Second greatest." Max stood perfectly still. "Can you make it stop?" Before Dave could answer, the front door opened. Morley walked in carrying groceries. She stopped. Max was standing rigidly. Kenny was laughing. Dave looked guilty. The radio forecast was coming from somewhere in the room. Morley immediately understood more than she wanted to. "What happened?" Nobody spoke. "Dave." "It's not exactly what it looks like." "What does it look like?" "Two middle-aged men accidentally created a human transistor radio." Morley put down the groceries. "Why?" Dave pointed at Kenny. Kenny pointed at Dave. Max pointed at the notebook. Morley picked it up. She read the title. She closed her eyes. "Experiments and Challenges for Becoming Men." The silence that followed was profound. "You showed him this?" "For historical, educational purposes," said Kenny. "Educational and historical ," said Dave. "Educational?" said Morley. "Mostly." Morley flipped through the pages. Each page made her expression worse. "You two survived this?" "Barely," said Dave. "This explains a lot," said Morley. She handed the notebook back. "New rule." Dave didn't like the sound of that. Kenny liked it even less. "From now on," said Morley, "if either of you wants to teach Max life lessons, I approve them first." "That seems extreme," said Kenny. "You turned my son into an AM radio station. Nobody listens to AM anymore, so....I don't what I should be madder about." "Fair point." Max suddenly perked up. "Traffic report coming." Everyone listened. Sure enough, a traffic report emerged from his retainer. Morley sat down. Even she had to laugh. Not much. But enough. Dave looked relieved. Kenny looked proud. Max looked famous. And somewhere in a drawer at the Vinyl Café sat an old notebook containing all the reasons boys should never be left unsupervised—and all the reasons they usually are.