In time, poetry comes to reveal itself.

where's cousin Romeo? who is cousin Romeo?

where'd he come from? what the hell's he doing

at the fringes of my family? there are people and places

better preserved to memory.

I recall the struggle to retrieve the baseball

which rolled into the sewer as though it was

a friend sinking at Reed’s Road pond between the listing

raft graced with sunbathing beauty "Bunny" Giambastino

in her one-piece as if it was the top layer of her skin,

and the raucous concession stand where burgers were grilled

and ice cold Cokes hissingly uncapped.

but I don’t remember anything about cousin Romeo

save his name and ultra stylistic powder blue leisure suit

worn at Uncle Frank’s wake, whom I recall fondly as if it was

Thursday and a scheduled pick-up of repaired shoes with new

"Cat's Paw" heels and head-turning metal "clickers" attached.

but of cousin Romeo?  nothing but a veritable hole in space.

well, a hole in space is something, I guess.

five stars for the snazzy leisure suit, though.

still, requiem I suppose.