Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois
Astronomy
I was born in the Bronx, our building destined to become a burned-out
tenement populated by rats, crack heads, meth heads, severed heads. We fled
to the suburbs.
In Jersey, kids coveted penny loafers and the coolest madras shirts. Shapiro
humiliated Steven C in Plymouth Park Candy Store, because he was wearing
green socks.
The aerospace industry moved west. So did we. In southern Cal you could
surf and smoke pot, but the air was unbreathable.
In Berkeley, the streets were lined with cars. Their windows fed me my
distorted reflection. I got fat on it.
In Humboldt County, the coastal redwoods renewed my ugly soul. I worked
in a sawmill and got pneumonia four times. I found a wife and baby, but not
a decent job.
In the Florida panhandle, I ate catfish and collards washed down with Jack
Daniels, but race hate was tangled in the Spanish Moss. My wife took me by
the hand and pulled me to the end of the road.