here’s how I see it

1959 at Uncle Octavio’s wake with the stench

of floral perfumes wafting into the atmosphere of those

in attendance and the Grim Reaper, the omnipotent determinator

holding court with his rusty blood-centered scythe like a conqueror,

like Napoleon before his fall at Waterville, or Water View Heights,

or whatever it was,–– to the smirking shit-head holding a queen-

high straight before a jack-high flush hits the table diluting his pride,

to the incomparable Maria Beva L'Agua as I drove her

around town to all her places of interest, uphill, downhill,

turning sharp corners at her command, stopping to buy her

a scoop of chocolate ice cream atop a sugar cone at "Frates" on rout 6 east,

then to the one stop she "had to make" before telling me "take me home"

and all this without payback, not a touch, not a quickie look-see,

playing me for a sucker, and in the oldman’s brand new Pontiac Chieftain

for chrissakes and that’s how I see it!