Albert Grabetzky, late of Brooklyn, NY

Walks through the Mall of the Americas

His daughter firmly in tow

He has watched “Cops” and “America’s Most Wanted”

And knows the price

Of keeping your children close

And your sanity intact

And of course, as he would remind you,

He is a native New Yorker to boot.

Sauntering the antiseptic mall

Listening to the wafting of music without balls

From speakers he cannot see

Albert lets his eyes

Wander over Wendy’s, and Burger Kings

The golden arches and Taco Bells

Sadly, he shakes his head

And feels the tug of his daughter’s fist

Inside his own

“What’s the matter, daddy?” she says,

Genuinely concerned

“Nothing, sweetie,” he says, then adds:

“You can’t get a good bagel in this town,

You know.”

And the girl just smiles quizzically.

“What’s a bagel, daddy?” she replies.

Albert winces.

What is a bagel, he thinks.

What is a blintz, a cannoli,

A Gyro, a Coney Island Dirty Water Dog

What is an egg crème, and what is a souvlaki?

How does he describe it?

How would she know?

Five years ago, his company

Moved him here from Boro Park

He remembered his cackling joy,

Telling his neighbors how happy

He was to be leaving this cesspool, this stinkhole

This crowded, noisy, unliveable place

Now, in the heartland

He aches to read the morning TIMES

Mourns giving up his seat at  Ranger games

Goes to the Homer Dome to see the Yankees play

And wonders, will he ever see them

In their pinstriped home white uniforms

Again

“It’s so much safer here,” his wife says, in her usual

Mantra

And that it is. No groping, grumbling gaggle of

A-train denizens. No loud-mouthed messengers of God

Trumpeting their Only-ness.

No rude, obscene asides

From caramel people of dubious Ethnic heritages

He lives in a place of Plain Vanilla Stoics

Whose idea of fun

It to make jokes about North Dakotans

It is, at times,

So grating it has Albert

Secretly longing for a young black man

To come bopping by with a boom box

Thumping loudly from his sweaty chocolate shoulders

Shaking this white-bread world apart.

“Someday,” Albert thinks, wistfully

“I will take her to New York and show her.

Ride the subways. Visit the Zoo.

Get a fresh bagel, maybe with a schmear”

He smiles to think of this

But then he holds his daughter’s hand more tightly

And reminds himself again, she is safer here. She is.

But life itself, he sighs

Is as sterile as a Q-tip

Dipped in Listerine

12/06/2002

Author's Note: once again, for Pags...with gratitude for asking

Posted on 12/06/2002
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