-Idle wind-

Saturday morning

Running through Columbus park
In foul territory at the third base line,
Moving over to tag the bag,

Cutting through the little playground

Built for the children, passing the wooden

Swings with their safety bars attached,

The aluminum slide, and with a strong
Push of my hand, spinning the empty
Merry-go-round, tilted on its axis,—
Cutting a quick left at the gate,
Running fast.
I'm over ten minutes late for catechism class.

Down the stairs in a hurry to the basement
Hall of the Holy Rosary Church;—

The hall where the Italian-American

Veterans of Foreign Wars

Hold their Friday night meetings, bullshitting and

Eating capocollo sandwiches  

Prepared by the Women's Auxiliary of the Italian-

American Veterans of Foreign Wars.

Inside, the kids of the neighborhood

Surrounding a folding banquet table are reading

Their catechism booklets.

Monsignor Pannoni scowls;

Looks up at his tardy child and scowls again.

An unoccupied metal chair, un-folded, invites,

As I pull the rolled catechism booklet
From the back pocket of my dungarees
Sitting down to face the music as Peter,

Paul and all the Saints drop on my head.

Gerry Martelli, sitting across the table
Looks me over,

Smirking, shaking his head. A great and oily
Wave of hair built upward, crests and stays put.
Shirley Bertoncini sits blank-faced;

Her blouse threatening the stressed, little pearl buttons.

Cynthia Lanzesera is reciting the Seven Sacraments.

I came in on “Penance,”

Sat down on “Anointing of the sick,”

Fidgeted on my metal chair during “Holy Orders,”—

And at Lanzesera's “Matrimony” close,
(Bringing down the house)

Monsignor growls: “Got all that, William?”

“Yes, Monsignor.”

“Good. What are the first three

Sacraments of the Church, William?”


What a question.
I wasn't even even down here for those.

Look at Martelli,

Smirking and shaking his Wildroot head.

His old man owns the little food market

On the corner of Wall and Bedford

Where the Women’s Auxiliary of the Italian-

American Veterans of Foreign Wars bought

The fatty, sodium-saturated capocollo,

Assisting in the future heart attacks of our heroes.


The sun is bright this morning.
Cousin Paul is linking the broken
Chain of my Schwinn.
The television's horizontal hold is being steadied
By Phil, of "Phil's T.V. Repair," on his knees
At the bowels of a significant part of my universe.
Later, in the house at my sister's pajama party
With a bunch of her girlfriends staying overnight
Lighting the atmosphere with laughter and music,
I'll jockey for position at her door.


Inside the basement hall I'll speak the first
Three entries looking into the smirk of your eyes, Martelli:

“Baptism,... Confirmation, and, umm...

Eucharist,— Monsignor.”

                                     Quequechan