Joe D’Elia was my father’s younger brother

a nighthawk barroom hopper.

fast walker. smooth talker. had his big toe

in the murky pool of Fall River politics at the entry level,

practitioner in hunting down street-wise women

who’d hunt him down right back.

had a steady girl. red-haired Rosie, cocktail waitress.

had a sleek automobile.

Cadillac de Ville which allowed him a roam-around attitude.

smoked Viceroy king size filter-tipped cigarettes

three packs a day.

let's remember Roseanne Marcucci.

well,–– Joe D'Elia was the guy who gave us a ride

to her junior prom in his Cadillac and never came back.

the place closed down after “good night sweetheart”.

a downpour. I was soaked through my tux.

Roseanne's skin was glazed like a strand of limp linguini

dipped in extra virgin olive oil.

the Route 6 motel was lit-up and flashing red across the highway.