Musings of a Manasquan Man

An old man and I, he a sixty-
Something year old fisherman
From Point Pleasant, New Jersey,
Stubborn as all hell and always spitting
Tobacco as he chews it by the mouthful.
And I, a thirty-seven year old child
Of the Jones Act & Operation Bootstrap
From both Fort Independence & Jackson Streets
In the Bronx, long after our wars were over.
We sit out in the backyard listening
To the blue jays chatter and chirp
To each other through the swirl
And confusion of their skimming
Through the trees excitedly
As summer birds are apt to do
In their exuberance for life, for
Flight and light, sunshine and melody.

His reticent voice, tremulous in shame,
Timid in its serene anxiety,
Like a sheep after it has been shorn
Has humbled itself to a low tremble
Since he admitted to relapsing
Just a few days ago.

He tries to complain and find someone
Or something else to blame
For his misery.

He’s bored, he says.
I say you’re too old to be bored,
You aught to be ashamed.
Ain’t this supposed to be the twilight of your life
Old man? Shouldn’t this be your evening
Constitutional?
Aren’t cowboys supposed to ease on
Into the closing credits riding peacefully
Into the sunset as a mouth-harp
Plays a western melody calmly
In the background?

He laughs and spits into the grass
Saying, ” Yeah sure thing, kid.
Not with the crap I’ve had to put up with
All my life. I wasn’t given the best
Circumstances to start off in to begin with, ya know?”

I was a no good nothin’
Since the day I was born,
My old man was a drunk
Who held and kissed bottles of whiskey
More than he did his own kids.
My mother, bless her heart,
Was as mean as he was, but sober.
He could at least blame the booze,
And he wasn’t half bad
When he stayed on the wagon
But she was angry as all hell
And cold and clear eyed,
And you could feel her starring at you
From behind, but funny thing
Was she never really looked at you,
She looked right through you.

When we got home from school
She’d just sit there on the couch
Watching her shows and wouldn’t
Seem to notice you were there.
She didn’t care
And half the time we had to go eat
At our neighbor’s house or starve
Until lunchtime at school.
Our neighbors knew
And didn’t mind since they could spare
The extra food.

I tell you it was a lousy life,
My sister could tell you!
He used to kick the s**t out of her too.

( He laughs and turns his eyes
Towards a little plot of land
Our neighbors converted to a tomato garden)

Man, I can’t wait
Until those babies start coming in!
I tell ya what, onions, peppers and tomatoes
I can eat them like candy.
You ever fry ’em? Nah?
Man I tell you what they’re so f’ing good.
You don’t know what you’ve been missing.

[ He diverts the subject.
His eyes having watered up on the verge of tears.
His sister having been recently admitted to hospice care.
His reminiscing turns out to be a bit too much
for him to handle at the moment]

Yeah I bet.
Wanna watch the game with me in a bit?
Sure why not? Who’s playing?
A division game. The Patriots and Jets!
Sure thing.