On the Jersey Shore, those '80s, I’d drink
with a buddy named Ken -- artist who worked
in stained glass -- once a seaman. Never blinked
as he spoke of those days. He’d always shirk
from bar fights, till one night -- cornered -- two guys
tried to kill him. He bit off one’s ear, sent
them both running. “What would you do,” he’d sigh,
“when faced with death?” Mute, I’d nod in consent.
Once at McD’s, he quelled folks shoving out
a homeless man; bought the lost one a burger,
fries and Coke. Listened. Learned how he had gout.
Called a doctor to treat him, then drove him there.
In the car, Kenny’d play a tape -- just one.
“Rampal,” he’d smile, eyes like stained glass in sun.
Roger Armbrust
August 23, 2015
