5649. TO MY SISTERS IN OLD NEWARK

TO MY SISTERS 

IN OLD NEWARK

Before I die I want to play for you one last tune

I wrote along McCarter Highway when I was 

twelve years old. I had a string in one hand and 

a yo-yo in the other. It was a Saturday when the

ball teams were choosing up sides. I was 

nowhere to be found. Now the sound of

everything is silence.

-

There was one time, in a blinding snow  -  another

instance  -  when I stayed outside for hours, just to

see how much cold I could withstand, while my 

father worked inside. He made furniture and upholstered

things for Co-Op Industries. Every once in a while he

would take me along to work. I'd play outside or just

stand around. Furniture was otherwise pretty boring.

-

I'd watch the Spanish guys in their little cars : funny

things, from Panama and Costa Rica. The emblems on

the hoods had most all been replaced, with big chrome

things  -  swans and boats and over-sized winged birds.

I could never understand, but those men took their pride

from whatever was their ride. Now the sound of

everything is silence again.