addendum to “the accordion lesson”

we began the slow descent from the 4th floor:

seven mothers, seven kids, eight 20 pound accordions, cousin Paul,

and me, the lone male non-participant of the great and terrible accordion wars.

(the 4 story red brick building also housed occasional meetings

of the I.L.G.W.U.–– the International Ladies Garment Workers Union)

on the first floor, of which my mother was a card-carrying member

who paid her dues and went to work among the "balers" and “frame-spinners”

and "inner-hatband stitchers" and among the “slubber-doffes"; my mother,

first disciplinarian of my person inside the walls of the frantic house)

“Billy! put those things in the hamper”!

“Billy! go wash those hands”!

“Billy! go get your father some Luckies”!

 but on the long way down from the suffering echoes of eight air-breathing accordions,

all were equal in the eyes of God, and when the ground floor doors flung open

to the light of day on Second Street directly across from Alfonso Petrillo's dank subterranean "Roma Café".. I say unto you.–– the sea parted!