A BOWERY TALE

 

                                                                  with nods to Robert W. Service and the Salvation Army 

When I reached age twenty and thought I knew plenty I moved to New York to find work 

Fresh from the U.P. and thrilled to be free the city was a mind-blowing perk 

For I longed to be a writer who would make the days brighter and I scoured the Big Apple for material 

Ten million stories full of heartbreak and glories and characters whose lives felt ethereal 

The Bowery was the best with its souls dispossessed who hoped they’d survive through the night 

So I started going down and just hanging around to gather strange tales to write 

There were lots of old drunks and a few mean-eyed punks but most chaps were docile and kind 

I’d pay for their beer which produced lots of cheer and they’d tell me dark secrets on their mind 

One day I drank a lot and didn’t feel so hot so I headed for the subway uptown 

The mission’s service was starting so instead of departing I decided I ought to stick around 

The room was jam-packed with no space at the back but the front row contained one last seat 

There were hundreds of men who were back once again and were desperate for something to eat 

The mission served dinners but their true aim was sinners so a sermon preceded the meal 

Major Cherney had zip and she shot from the hip, saying winos deserve a fair deal 

Major wound up her thing by insisting we sing, then invited non-diners to go 

Not planning to eat I got up from my seat and the crowd whispered, “This guy’s so slow” 

Major pointed to the rear and though wobbly from beer I finally stumbled to a door 

The hall was pitch black and I nearly turned back when a grasping hand shook me to the core 

It was Captain Olive Green in her uniform pristine whose intent was to save me from my fate 

She asked lots of stuff about life being rough and dissected my addled mental state 

I vowed to leave skid row, work to conquer my woe, and hopefully regain my lost pride 

Olive said that the Army ran a mission less smarmy way up on the Upper East Side 

I promised to attend although that was pretend and my only desire was escape 

Captain Olive wished me well, said I wasn’t bound for Hell, and prayed I would wind up shipshape 

So my last Bowery visit was less than exquisite and the time came to say my farewell 

And yet, nonetheless, I am happy to confess that I did find a story to tell

A Yooper at Antioch

Twelve Years Ago This Autumn (An Ode to Retirement)

Half past six, our alarm screams out 

My spouse lays out my jacket and tie

Rush hour, gridlock, stops and starts  

My daily commute, a chance to die 

Who needs this? 

I scan yellowed notes, get primed for class 

One hundred deadpan undergrad faces  

My deepest fear, they’ll find me boring

No way I can gain the crowd’s good graces   

I feel a migraine coming on 

Tuna salad, I lunch at my desk  

Then off to the weekly faculty meeting

We pick at the rules for the umpteenth time 

Searching for an answer to stop student cheating  

Beating a dead horse

I meet with a grad student about her thesis

No way I can think of a workable topic 

Failing to give even subpar advice

I fear that my brain is becoming myopic

Anxiety and shame, doldrums

Back to my office, an hour of my own

I work on an obtuse research paper 

The findings are bland, the conclusions obscure 

Time ill-spent on a dead-end caper 

What is the point exactly? 

Postscript (Twelve years later, here and now) 

My biggest worry when I retired 

How will I ever survive without work?  

It took two days to make my transition  

Surprise, surprise, I’m no longer berserk  

Life is gentle, life is kind   

My Pugilistic Career

All the Antioch freshmen had to take Phys Ed 

Maybe golf or horseshoes or squash  

I picked badminton,which sounded most gentle

But my roommate picked boxing, omigosh

Al was a chemist, a nerdy guy

Short, uncoordinated, even flabby

But each time he came back from his boxing class

He raved about his fights, oh so gabby 

Winter quarter arrived and I’d had enough

I was sure I was more manly than Al

I signed up for boxing, the first class I picked

I just knew it would boost my morale 

The first class meeting came as a shock

From the whole campus, all the biggest guys 

At least six foot two, two hundred pounds

I knew I’d never win a prize 

Class sessions were brutal sparring bouts

Monstrous brutes were on the attack 

A punch to the cheek, a blow to the gut

Thud, Crash, Whomp a Domp, Nasty Smash 

There was only one guy the same size as me 

When paired up we’d both go insane 

You’d never know we were mild-mannered 

We went all out, heck with the pain

I told Al my class was a nightmare 

The weekly pummeling left me sad 

Yes, Al said, it was the same for him 

“What?” I yelled, “that is so bad.”

Months later I got drunk at a party

I told Al, “Let’s go out and fight” 

He laughed and thought I was kidding

But I meant to show him my might 

Nowadays my gym has a punching bag

My left jab is still pretty quick 

But I’ve never once used my boxing skills 

Badminton, a more practical pick

The First Day of Classes

Autumn quarter had just begun

I was gathering myself in my office

They assigned me to teach Geology Two

I knew nothing about it, felt nauseous

I looked at my watch, it was 9:58

My class was scheduled for ten

 I frantically searched for some lecture notes

Finding none, I grabbed paper and pen

I raced across campus to find my room

But they’d locked the entire first floor

I called the office to get some help

They sent me to Room 404

Now  it was seventeen after ten

 Over half of my students had left

I nodded to the class and hemmed and hawed

I had trouble even catching my breath

My topic for the day — the origin of earth

This was something I knew nothing about

I told a feeble joke about getting drunk

The back row stood up and walked out

The rest of the class just stared at me

They were shocked that their teacher was a fraud

My face turned red and my heart was pounding

My whole being was visibly flawed

I said a few words about summer vacation

I wanted to scream, “Please stay here”

More of the students were packing their books

I too wished that I could disappear

Finally there was only one student left

A red-haired young woman with glasses

She said she hoped I’d get better

Geology was the worst of her classes

At that very moment I woke from my dream

There weren’t any students in sight

I haven’t taught a class for umpteen years

You’d think I’d be over the fright 

The Ballad of the Dark-Haired Girl

I’ll never forget that September day

When I first saw the dark-haired girl

She stood on the lawn across the way

One glance and I felt my head swirl

The freshman mixer had begun the year

The huge crowd had made me feel wary

The dark-haired girl was a source of my fear

Though I daydreamed that one day we’d marry

I saw the dark-haired girl every once in a while

In the spring she was in a French play

I was totally smitten by her genuine smile

But to speak to her, there was no way

One year later I went on a trip

To Milwaukee to visit some friends

On my arrival I felt my heart skip

Fate offers such strange turns and bends

The dark-haired girl was there with my friends

That was so unlikely and scary

I talked with her about odds and ends

Then I told her my dream that we’d marry

The dark-haired girl gave an angry look

She said, “That’s the worst line I’ve heard!”

She seemed to think me a nitwit or crook

And she took off in flight like a bird

That was almost six decades ago

A precipitous time in my life

I often think back to the dark-haired girl  
Even now I’m amazed she’s my wife