THIS DRIVER WEARS A KNIFE
The habit of wasting effort dies hard : the baseball shortstop
with those two extra steps and the glove dragging low on the
pick-up, it's killing his defense yet he won't give it up. Yes.
Easily fixed. Routine repetition, the practice of craft.
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That bus driver, who slumbers in his seat, hunched like a
champ in his corner. You can't be awaiting the bell all
the time - sometimes you've got to be in the ring, fighting.
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I was born in a place called Bayonne, beneath, in fact, the
Bayonne Bridge. Not too far from the Maidenform factory,
where my grandmother worked and where, a few years
before, they'd halted production and been shut down so
as to house German prisoners of war during those years.
Across the way, on the water, was the Hellman's Mayonnaise
plant. The story in my family circles was that - inside there -
every egg for the product was broken, one at a time, on the
thighs of any of the Spanish girls who worked there. I always
did wish to see if that was true.
-
Life was different then, all of it. You wouldn't understand
what I'm meaning, yet, if only I try to tell, I feel better.
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