-if that’s how it works-

I might as easily

not have been born.

showing-up to his part-time job,
the young man who would become my father

might have fallen from the slippery
bed of the lumbering, LaCava & Sons ice truck
in the midst of summer deliveries,

or tumbled from the tailgate while

hauling kerosene vessels in winter
to the tenement space-heaters. 

he might have broken his neck at play
diving into shallow waters from the granite

cliffs of the treacherous ledge.

he actually did break his neck

playing tackle football with his buddies
in the Columbus Park League of 1934
against the invading roughnecks of Ruggles Park
while running into the B gap off right guard
from the beautiful single wing.

(his full recovery was not considered an option

during antiseptic deliberations

of the doomsday prognosis at Union Hospital)

or he might have married the plump

Francis DePola, in which case

I’d have wound-up no more than half myself

(if that’s how it works)— or,

he could've been killed during World War 2
on Military Police patrol, bumped by a taxi
while in foot pursuit of a drunken swabbie 
from San Diego somewhere in Minneapolis,— or

Annie Pieroni, the young brown-eyed beauty,
corner of Bedford and Stinziano, first floor,
might have said to him when the time came

to answer his question:  –– "No! You're crazy!"

but she didn’t.
so here I am early in the morning writing this about all of that.

-we the people-

the beaches were not on its scheduled route

but the local Bedford and County bus

picked-up its daily passengers at the stop
on Bedford at the park's right field line
on route to Main Street

before circling its way back to County

via Bedford, and if by chance

neighbors, friends of the family or blood-
relations with licenses to drive cars
were unavailable, my young mother
would ready us for the beach nonetheless,

walking us through the entryway into the backyard where

she'd lay a bed blanket over the ground,—

(the ground, a mixture of dirt, pebbles and dotting
puddles of, I trust, rainwater between tufts

of grass and weeds) tucked beneath
the kitchen window where the great sink was located.

she often mentioned her desire
for a second phone-line
to be installed in the kitchen,— one, she'd say,
(while serving the starchy supper tables)

whose telephone would be equipped
with an extraordinary cord whereby

she could con the heavy communicator

down to the blanket beneath the window
where we, my younger brother, older sister
and me, lounged in the sunlight with neither sand
nor saltwater in sight,— but

who could have known of such a thing

as two telephones for one tenement occupied by
we the people of 1017 Bedford, north of County,

living our lives in the pursuit of happiness?

                                                  Quequechan

-come n’ get it!-

I set-up two bird feeder stations yesterday,

one in front of the house, roadside,

the other at the north side of the house,
facing the Janowski property, always for sale,
always for eight hundred thousand bucks.

the birds are active here

zooming around in haphazard patterns

and it’s a wonder they don’t collide more often.

out front, the feeder swings gently

from a high metal stand buried

into the ground where a small, circular

man-made landscape of mulch

is enclosed in a ring of bricks adding a fine,
manicured touch to their experience.

I assumed the birds would enjoy
the natural rocking motion of the feeder.

but they fight aggressively for position.
they’re voracious

and the crows overpower the smaller birds
as well as each other, occasionally
complaining so fiercely among themselves
that they leave the feeder in a chase for dominance
which continues into the trees.

a 6 pound bag of seed is devoured in an afternoon.

now I've gotta go to the Home Depot to get a bigger bag.
maybe a 10 pounder.

I hate the way the little ones look at me.

at the window, the indoor cat
observing the feeding frenzy
seemed to be internally combusting
with impossible anticipation

and the guy who helped me secure the feeder's stand
sprained his wrist early-on in the process of construction
and was rendered near useless.

there are worms and insects all over the earth.
I don't need this and neither do the birds.

setting-up a couple of bird feeders in your yard

won't guarantee feelings of comfort and joy to anybody.