His aunt wrote poetry for the neighborhood
newspaper. Her sister, his mother, used to
memorize poetry in school as they did back
in that day, but the poetry she quoted at
home, much to his dad’s chagrin, was not
from what she learned in school, but maybe
the playground of the 108th Street Christian
school. To wit: “Here I sit broken-hearted,
came to shit…but only farted.” “Jeanette,
knock it off. It’s not good for the boy’s
ears.” “Sonny boy, I have another one.”
“Okay, mom.” “No, Jeanette!” “I’ll tell you
after school before your father comes home.”
Guess what Sonny boy remembers from his youth?
Yes, the great, school yard poetry quoted by
Jeanette. “Oy!” said Sonny, the goy boy. His
mother would have said, “Nice rhyme, kid, but
you have to spice it up a bit,” and his dad
would have shouted, “Jeanette! Enough already.”