I recall that
as a young man
my father had a friend
Mr. Barbasho
he owned a printing shop
behind the scenes, I knew everything about Sam Barbasho
dad
my dad
was a talker
a careful talker
none the less
a talker
in his moments alone with me
say, like when driving slowly
on the freeway
in his long gold town car, together
one day
we arrived at Mr. Barbasho’s shop
I privately knew his
I privately knew his
entire financial picture
he had so many loans and banks on the hook
lined up like pigeons on a wire
I wasn’t always the most discrete fellow
at times
I said, “Mr. Barbasho?” and he of course said,
“Yes, Bobby.”
“How do you keep these banks away?”
Sam was not a proud man
he had a very thick and longish salt and pepper beard
much like a stocky Hasidic Jew might have
with blue and twinkling eyes deeper than the Mariana Trench
and he had a smile like all of Manhattan
“I keep them fucked up and confused,” came out of Sam’s mouth with a grin
of a kindly sort
I knew that trick well as that was our motto too
he wasn’t ashamed
his eyes just twinkled a bit more from inside that cash register mind of his
the printing presses behind the counter just kept chunking along
later
on the drive home
dad said, “He’s got a lot of balls” and he continued, by saying,
“He’s still open for business. You have to grant him that.”
Willy the dentist
5 junio 2018
11:46 pm mst usa
as a postscript
Sam died not long after
and dad found me blurting out a private unmentionable to
someone not so friendly to us
after
dad says to me,
“you scare me.”
I thought
at least I scare somebody
btw, not one loan was ever paid back and
Sam had a traditional Catholic Mass at the funeral
I wondered
what’s in that coffin other than Sam
if I’m not mistaken
my dad footed the bill so Sam would lay peacefully under that grass
I loved my dad
he did have a seeming hoard of eyes that twinkled his way
I’ll pray for you, Sam
I know that you’re just fine and shining
down
I could use that Manhattan smile of yours
I have no chunking printing presses to keep me up at night
I do, however, scare myself, now and again
I wonder
just who Sam’s angel is guiding now
oh, there are so many stories in life
seems they’re rolled up like a Persian carpet in
a truck somewhere
the last thing
Mr. Barbasho had a cottage industry in
playing Santa Claus
at a few local shopping malls each year and
I’ll betcha those kids finally knew for sure that
Santa was a real deal
once they looked into those eyes
I’m sure that Sam owed thousands of snow sleds and bikes to
even more thousands of kids
ah, Sam, you had that Lexington Ave smile that said,
“Anything is possible,”
“Anything”
Yellow Rose Publications
