-Shapiro's probability-

an appreciation of the film: "Stalag 17"

intro:

––Something's permeating the air of the Stalag.

Filtering through its frigid barracks the scent stirs,  

comically resolved through the washtub's tepid

potato soup-du-jour to scrub its socks. 

mud's requiem:

––The flatbed hauls Manfredi and Johnson

to closure from their brief respite.
Manfredi and Johnson are dropped to the mud's exhibition
with no such creative resolution as had the potato soup. 

Here at the Stalag it's all in the mud. 

So where's the relief from such an incident if not at the track?   

at the snack-bar:

––1. You can't get a decent mint julep anywhere in the joint.

2. Nearing post time. 

3. Place your bets in cigarettes.

4. NO BUTTS.

 scherzo:

––Animal's deliberation:

Schnicklefritz has Animal's instinctive cover.

But this rat's a long-shot of a horse at ten to one.

Maybe he's a mudder.

But this track's cardboard dry.

Animal's reluctant, but bet's-up by Shapiro's prodding

to the fleet-footed Equipoise.

and they're off and running.

a rondo of sorts:

––It's a fast track

and Equipoise has Animal's ten-smoke bet on its nose.

But Equipoise

ignores the circle of the track to track the circle of its tail.

Somebody should cut it off with a carving knife!

What the hell kind of horse is this rat, anyway?

It's Schnicklefritz by five lengths.

At ten smokes to one.

opera comique:

––Shapiro laments on clocking Equipoise that very morning.

Animal: "YOU clocked him?!   Why.. don't.. I.. clock.. you?"

and under the dark of the mud-in-the-moon

the Stalag's flatbed is emptied of it's cargo, the once

Manfredi and Johnson.

Fini

                                 

                        

                         

                          

                       

                         

                        

                    in recognition of an old classmate

downtown and a cold drizzle

was amusing itself on the sidewalk.

a good afternoon for a haircut.

maybe a pair of new shoes.

I could use some boxers and sox, too.

my credit card’s paid up to date.

my credit is good for a thousand bucks.

I could buy mink boxers with that kind of loot.

then from across the street I spotted

Richard Carrier.

Miss Sikes blamed me for something

Carrier did to the toilet walls;

a masterful drawing of an erect penis

and hanging there a scrotum with little

black hairs attached.

the caption read: “eat me raw”.

that’s poetry for Richard Carrier.

but it’s banishment to the cloakroom for me.

it’s dark in there.

I could smell the cloth of the coats.

some smelled like backyard dirt.

some smelled like the dampness of a wet dog.

I recognized Norene Sousa’s coat.

I lifted a sleeve and got a whiff of her world.

a world I could never get to.

fuckin’ Carrier.

                  Popular Mechanics

there’s “Whitey”

at the Esso station

and then

there’s “Theo”

at the Gulf station.

for a time my old man drove

a 1950 pea-green flat-head

Ford two-door coupe which

Chuck Berry himself immortalized

in his song: "you can't catch me" 

("here come a flat top he come movin' up with me..")

but when it broke down permanently

it was stationed in the backyard

at 1017 Bedford.

In the winter I’d sit behind the wheel

shifting through the gears.

there were three forward

gears and one reverse gear.

the only gears I’d run through

from the back of my throat

were 1st, 2nd and 3rd

activated from the column.

the clutch was drying out

of its necessary lubricant

and shifting became hard to do.

winter made matters worse.

the vapor from my mouth seemed to be

a prelude to smoking cigarettes.

the engine couldn’t start

but the little button

protruding from the dashboard

allowed the mechanism to turn

the engine's crankshaft, agonizing

its impossible mission–– and then,

well, soon enough, that failed, too.

to those who arrive at the door

they knock

as though they mean it

as though they want "in"

as though they have

the one true gizmo to make

your busy life a lot easier

something for the mantlepiece

a knick-knack present

sometimes to pay their belated condolences, or

to return a scarf long forgotten by time

some come carrying volumes of knowledge

inside their cases which grow out of date

from the moment of purchase

to present themselves at the door

polished and clean

knotted at the adam's apple

draped in dresses seen before

at anniversary celebrations

at the funeral parlors 

maybe a bloodline's there

a relation believing you'll like

that the've come to the door

as if the door from the dread of the inside

is the door to paradise on the outside

and when it’s opened they smile.

 

                   from the folder to be determined / 1962 to 2026

I dreamed of Elaine last night

sent to me from Hillside Manor

the brick and mortar

housing project

down by the river

delivered there from

Sao Miguel

surrounded by water.

                     vignette

from the balcony, there in the distance,

city houses are set upon the hillside

through winter tree-heads after snowfall

sometime after sunrise above the rooftops

without a hint of what lives beneath them.

in the silence, this could be a world.

when Pablo Neruda asked:

"what is water like in the stars?"

I thought: "maybe the great poet's on tilt this morning."

a question so uniquely strange that I didn’t bother to be curious.

I just went on my way living life between

someone's microscope and someone's telescope,

between diners and priests, between girls and women,

sometimes learning on the march.

there are forms of water in and circling the stars.

this is water not nearly as rare as the liquid running

from our kitchen faucets.

this is water in its cosmological enterprise.

but Neruda asked the question during the time

when few, if any in the know thought it reasonable.

water in the stars?

the question is found in Neruda’s: “Through a closed mouth the flies enter"

pages 249 to 251 in the volume: “Extravagaria”.

Google the title and save money.

also of interest is the question: “When did the lemons learn 

the same laws as the sun?"

there are rare confections between the pages of 249 and 251.

or one could say, a world.