At the Golden Cue
— Elmhurst, Queens
If my father could have put into practice
his insistence that the angle of incidence
equaled the angle of refraction,
he’d have won more games of pool.
He circled the table gracefully,
aiming his cue and lining up invisible margins,
like a surveyor along an expansive lawn.
Sometimes he stretched so far across the rail,
he lifted completely off the ground
except for one toe that trembled
when he pulled back his elbow and followed through.
Scarred oak and worn felt added to the green tableau.
“That’s all she wrote,” were the only words
the Cue’s owner ever spoke.
Susie kept to herself. In a house coat,
she pushed a broom, then scribbled on the wall
an accounting of the miles she swept.
My father blamed a gleaming light
for a right angle gone wrong
and the loud juke box for missing a routine shot.
If he slipped, he cursed the linoleum’s saliva-like sheen.
We buried his cue alongside him
in league with his comical belief that the afterlife
promised chalk cubes forming an igloo-like retreat.
He treasured the notion of a gangs-all-here reunion
full of fun waiting for him,
providing another chance to reignite the rivalries he loved.
He looked forward to that. He used to pat my arm
and say he looked forward to that.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Silk Bouquet
A grammar school girl waits for the bus
on a snow-packed street
where the bus rarely stops.
In one hand, a tote. In the other, a rose.
A petal drops to the icy curb,
and she says, oh no,
not in alarm, but mimicking
an adult response.
That single petal settles on the snow
like those at the base of the silk bouquet
my mother plucked and placed
beside the vase to appear they fell.
And, from her desire
to brighten up the world, they did.
Thank you, mortal petal,
for reminding me of my mother’s need
to warm our rooms.
It’s not just snow that makes us cold.
Time has a climate.
A yellow bus arrives, the door unfolds.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Roback
— Queens, New York
― My father-in-law worked for Bernie Roback, “The Vegetable King of Queens.”
― I lived across from Roback’s. Your father-in-law always wore a brown suit and fed the pigeons.
― My Uncle Pasquale was Bernie’s handicapper for the horses.
― Did Pasquale drive a taxi?
― No, that was Bernie’s partner, John.
― Every Halloween we’d fish old fruit from their dumpster to bomb each other and every bus.
― My brother sold Christmas trees there at Christmas time.
― My father-in-law always boosted a wreath when he delivered them to St. Joan’s.
― I used to round up shopping carts for Bernie and received a big bag of vegetables in return.
― Your Uncle Pasquale was “a self-employed individual.”
― My husband, Joey, drove a cab for John on Sundays.
― Didn’t John own a white, ’67 Mustang?
― Yes, he bought it on our tenth wedding anniversary. He drove to Bellacicco’s bakery on Fridays to pick up paperwork and then he’d take me to the Cavalier restaurant for dinner.
― Your John was handsome.
― Bernie sold Mangiapane bread and it came in a bag picturing Bernie in boxing gloves and the slogan, The Bread with a Punch.
― He was a nice man, Bernie. He sat in the back on a crate.
― Always a cigar and a wink!
― I lived next door to him and used to play with his daughter, Peppina.
― My father-in-law always bounced her on his knee.
― I caught Pasquale putting a Snickers in his pocket. He noticed me and said, “Five finger discount!”
― Bernie died young. A heart attack on the Whitestone Bridge going to the Jai-Alai in Connecticut. His car flipped over.
― John maintained there was something fishy about that.
― They were into all kinds of stuff. One time I walked into the rear freezer and it was filled with fur coats.
― Never got caught though!
― Hooray for them!
― No, they did. I know. My father-in-law snitched on them.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Note on “Roback”
— from The New York Times
The owner of a Queens produce market
and seven others accused of helping him
steal a million dollars worth of fruit
and vegetables from the Bronx Wholesale Terminal
were arraigned in Queens.
A ninth defendant, a 15-year-old boy,
has been turned over to juvenile court.
Police photographed three of the men
as they unloaded hundreds of cases
of vegetables and fruit from freight cars
at the huge wholesale exchange in the Hunt’s Point
section of the Bronx. The produce, stacked
on trucks, was driven to the Roback Open Air Market
in Corona, where police photographed
the defendants unloading the stolen fruits
and vegetables. The president of Roback,
Bernard Roback, 52, was released on $2,000 bail.