5453. ALL AND NOTHING AT ALL

ALL AND NOTHING AT ALL

I am finally getting it right, and I am waiting too.

I am finally waiting while getting it right  -  the

badgers along the waterfront each seek a different

tower, but I find only an amusement in my gun and

its trembling hand. I really want to shoot but know I

won't. The wordsmith is blowing bubbles off his bible,

shouting obscene lyrics to the band; everyone plays along.

-

I remember one time going off by myself  -  a really long time

back  -  just to think of something special : the heavenly light

in the sky, the pick-up cards in my father's house, the ones

with the naked women and the shoe-shine boys. At a workshop

on McCarter Highway, Newark, two men were fighting in the

street. Harsh blows and serious punches. Broken noses. I was

sure one of them would die. The storefronts held back their

resting time with the vengeance of a bell for every round.

Instead of a solace, all I got was pain.

-

Before they walled off the river, before the highway was built,

everything was mine  - I could walk for miles amidst the marshes

and the reeds. Then, slowly, but at once, it was all gone. The

ramps and the institutions have taken it all away. I'm left

now with really nothing much at all. My father's

dead on Pantry Hill, and only I am alone to tell.