OrilliaMatters welcomes letters to the editor at [email protected] or via the website. Please include your full name, daytime phone number and address (for verification of authorship, not publication). The following poem was submitted by Colin McKim.
The Ice Cream Witch
Of all the tall tales that I’ve heard in my day,
This is the strangest by far and away.
It happened one autumn in Kalamazoo
To a skinny-legged youngster named Willy Balloo.
This Willy Balloo was a pretty good kid,
Who did pretty much what the other kids did.
He didn’t mind school and played all kinds of sports.
He camped in the woods and made look-outs and forts.
When he hung with his buddies, he seemed to belong,
But Willy was different. Something was wrong.
Yes, something extremely, extremely extreme —
Believe or not, Willy hated ice cream!
All other foods, the boy gobbled with ease —
Hamburgers, frankfurters, Limburger cheese,
Cantaloupes, artichokes, liver and beans,
Parsnips and turnips, even sardines.
But he wouldn't eat ice cream — not even a lick
He called it “disgusting”. It made him feel sick.
Whatever the flavour, whatever the brand,
Ice cream was the one thing he just couldn't stand.
His mother would serve up her famous parfait
And plugging his nose, Willy'd push it away.
His parents both worried, as worry they might.
This not liking ice cream — it just wasn't right.
They took him to doctors. They took him to quacks.
They took him to wizards with capes on their backs.
Gypsies and witch doctors worked their dark skills
And piled on the lotions and potions and pills.
Though Willy became a pill-popping machine,
He still had a fit at the sight of ice cream.
Their hope running low, they arrived at the door
Of a witch named Ramona Spumoni Gabor.
“A kid who hates ice cream?” she muttered. “How silly!”
With a little black magic, we’ll fix you up, Willy.”
Then she flew out the door with her wand in her fist
To whip up some ice cream no boy could resist…
About a week later, one hot afternoon,
The witch came to town with a loud sonic boom.
She tore down the street in a dusty, black hearse,
Blew by Willy's house and squealed back in reverse.
She leapt from the hearse and started to scream,
“Where’s that fool kid they say won’t eat ice cream?”
As Willy came out of his house with his mum,
All the kids on the street shouted out, “He's the one.”
“Young man,” said the witch to Willy Balloo.
“I know how to deal with a misfit like you.
I may have to use every trick up my sleeve,
But I swear you'll be eating ice cream when I leave.”
Then she dashed to the hearse, threw open the back,
And pulled a carved pumpkin out of a sack.
"In here,” she announced, as she lifted the lid,
“Is some home-made ice cream that will dazzle you, kid.
In all the wide world there's no other ice cream
Like my Super Magnificent Dream Fruit Supreme!
It's made up with milk from a giant blue whale
That I milked underwater with a stool and a pail.
For ice, I flew up down to the Antarctic floes,
Freezing my butt, not to mention my toes.
The dream fruit I plucked near the South China Sea
Where I kick-boxed the dragon who guards the Dream Tree.
It's sweetened with honey I scooped out myself
From a killer bee hive at great risk to my health.
The rarest of spices, the finest liqueur,
Are blended to give it a potent allure.
The taste is divine and will fill you with joy.
Don't gawk like an idiot — EAT UP, MY BOY!”
"Forget it,” snapped Willy. “I'd gag on the stuff.”
But his mother cried, “William! That is enough.
Just give it a try. It's the least you can do
After all of the trouble this woman's been through.”
So, Willy gave in and accepted the spoon.
The kids crowded closer that hot afternoon.
“Okay,”' the witch said. “Let's see what he thinks."
And risking a lick, Willy sputtered: “IT STINKS!”
“WHAT?” the witch shrieked and she rose up erect.
“How dare you reject what I've slaved to perfect!
You think that it stinks, why you've got a nerve.
Now I'll give you the ice cream you really deserve.”
Then she whipped out her wand, uttered a curse
And yanked a black pumpkin out of her hearse.
She rapped on the shell, cast a dark spell
And the black jack'o'lantern let off a foul smell.
She spat out the words of another vile curse;
The pumpkin face drooled and the smell grew much worse.
Then seizing the lid with a grin, the witch said,
“In here is some ice cream that should knock you DEAD!”
She scooped out some gloop with the wing of a bat.
And filled an ice cream cone the size of her hat.
It wasn't like any ice cream that's been known —
It bubbled and sizzled and smoked in the cone.
She thrust it at Willy and said, “Hang on tight.
Come on, I dare you, take a big bite!”
Willy was steady, Willy was cool.
No foul-tempered witch would make him play the fool.
He looked at his neighbours who crowded in tight
And, shrugging his shoulders, he took a big bite…
Well, it tasted like skunkweed and stinky old socks.
It tasted like grubs that you find under rocks.
It tasted like fish that's been rotting for years.
It tasted like wax from an elephant’s ears.
It tasted like mould in a cage at the zoo.
It tasted like something you'd scrape off your shoe.
Just a whiff would have made poor Godzilla feel sick,
But Willy hung in there taking lick after lick.
Then looking around for his mom and his dad,
He remarked with a grin, “This stuff isn't bad.
It's nothing like ice cream I’ve eaten before.
I like it a lot. Have you got any more?”
The witch rolled her eyes and replied with distaste:
“Would you like me to add some industrial waste?”
“Whatever you think,” Willy said, “You’re the boss.
That sounds like it might make a pretty good sauce.”
The witch with a snarl muttered: “This is too much!
The kid is a freak or I’m losing my touch.”
And that’s when Ramona Spumoni Gabor
Jumped into her hearse and took off with a roar.
But Willy kept licking the Godawful crud,
As happy and cool as a pig in the mud.
His parents both smiled, it felt like a dream,
Watching their son finally eating ice cream.
So there’s Willy’s story and, trust me, it’s true.
Just ask anybody from Kalamazoo.
Colin McKim
Orillia
