-fate of god-

cousin Albert on my mother’s side was kneecapped by the fate of god.

it then conned transparent tubes of oxygen into Albert's nostrils, stripped

away the tough-guy double-ring corona replacing it with a long strand of drool

to swing from his narrowing mouth, sucked the once fierce muscle dry as sawdust,

reddened the lids of his eyeballs, yellowed the widening whites and then

for good measure with a sick sense of application, humped his backbone.

god slapped cousin Albert around with a cold determination for reasons

unknown but to god.

"Ed’s Medical Supply" on Weybosset Street strapped cousin Albert into a wheelchair

for a test run, Ed telling his sons: "boys, it's the best model in the house".

cousin Albert went along for the ride.

Celia, Al's wife of near 60 years,–– her beauty and youthful vivaciousness sapped,

soon to suffer a god’s kneecapping caper of her own, once sent me soaring from the frantic interiors to the outer planets, and these recollections came tumbling to mind between table-settings of coffee and finger sandwiches (ham salad and chicken salad) as they wheeled cousin Albert into the restaurant gathering after the funeral services for Uncle Armand

on my father’s side.