Returning to Secaucus
from a trip
to upstate New York
The tire blew out
on his father’s car
Lacking a spare
He dug strips of sod
with bare hands
from surrounding fields
And stuffed the tire
with earth
To continue home
During the war
He chose to work
On the docks
Hauling explosives
In and out, in and out
Of the harbor
A job I’m told
Claimed a higher death rate
Than those who fought
In the war
I once saw a picture
Of him
At the edge
Of a swimming hole
His black hair
Slicked back
His muscular torso
And strapping legs taught
He looked
Ethnically Italian
As he held Elizabeth
Over his head
With one arm
I read an article
In the paper
About how he jumped
Out of a run away dump truck
Just in the nick of time
Not once, but twice
Once on the harbor pier
That collapsed
Due to the weight
Of its load
And another time
Due to the failure of brakes
While descending the cliffs
From Weehawken Down to Hoboken
The first truck plunged
Into the Hudson
The second truck plunged
Onto the roof
Of a store below
I also heard
His fish stories
And many tales
About Native American friends
Which
From time to time
Would hold pow-wows
That
If I were good
We would attend
I also learned
About the funny farm
Which
Is where I’d end up
If I didn’t stop
Twirling my hair
And home runs
Were worth
Dollar bills
Once
He handed me
A hundred dollar bill
But
I hadn’t noticed
Until he traded me
For a regular single
During the depression
He hauled trash
In New York City
The fancy restaurants
Were so busy
That they didn’t clean
Used dinnerware
They simply grabbed
All four corners
Of the table cloth
And threw out the entire sack
Of goodies
Eventually
He too tired
Of polishing silver
And promptly followed suit
At the age of sixty
He had one lung removed
Lived twenty-five more years
On the brute strength
Of the remaining one.
William dePerra