on this day in 1947 / birthday greetings, "Reynold’s Wrap"!

It's a cold, damp night.

a dampness which penetrates to the bone. 

a cold, lacking even the remotest romance of winter.

I’m on my way home from attending an event, 

and street parking is as packed as SPAM in a can.

my forced walk of three blocks south on Bedford

from the installation of officers at the Sons of Italy Hall is

less than comfortable–– when without notice an old-timer,

cloaked in every garment imaginable which never before

belonged to him approaches for a handout.

I’ve got three bucks in my pocket, not one of which

will go very far, what with the price of a half pound of sliced

prosciutto the way it is.

so I part with two bucks and continue on my way, content

that I’ve done my part for the good of the neighborhood.

“wait”! hastened the old-timer, grabbing my sleeve

with a strong, skinny hand : “remember, friend !

ain’t nobody paints distressed aluminum foil like Ben Martinez !"

confused, and more than slightly alarmed, I hurriedly reach

into my pocket to shell-out the remaining single, before quick-

timing home, content that I’d also done my bit to support the arts.