Just a man
wondering
where I am,
unsure
how I got here,
unsure
where I’m going,
knowing
I’ve lost something
on the way.
*
How I
miss
the embrace of
my friends,
my boys from
the Beach,
the intimacy
of our
Black Sabbath
bonding,
Ozzy speaking
of the Devil,
Western Civ
according
to Maiden
speeding
on 95 or the
Turnpike,
the neon Grove,
naked South
Beach, Pelican
Harbor smokes,
deep fried Raffles,
shows at
the Sportatorium,
ringing ears,
smoking, joking,
a roving
ruckus of 1st gen
American
boys whose parents
were
classmates
in Cuba
through the 50s
until Castro.
We had no
Castro,
but we had
the Beach,
the sun and sand,
the tunes,
the thousand tokes
and cars, spoils
undeserved, unearned,
bequeathed.
We careless
princes
availed to any
whim
no matter how
selfish
and always good
times.
I miss those
boys,
hugging
them
like taking hold
of memory,
its heartbeat and
heartbreak
matching
your own.
*
Where to
begin?
The beginning
two days
ago? The
beginning
two years
ago?
The beginning
two kids
ago? The
beginning
was two lives
ago.
Before and
after.
*
You were just
a man
and you know
none
of this about
me.
You never
asked
for directions
to me.
When we met, we found
we.
*
My face accuses
me
responsible for
you.
How I did not
say:
Don’t do this anymore,
stop,
this is not your path,
stop,
where will this go if you don’t
stop?
SOS, man, SOS, brother, clear as code,
stop!
Never asked: Is this going to be
your story?
Your brawny bro-hugs became real
hugs,
an embrace of brotherhood, an
Oss!,
a nod, a slap of hands, a fare
well,
without me ever saying
stop.
And so I’m just a man who failed
you,
forever failed you on the
steep steps
I tripped upon, those built by
rebbeim of old
who defended Jews with passion and
panache
to the Heavenly courts, true scofflaws and
leaders,
subjects of stories, myths, and legends all
true,
like the stories of you, all
true
about giving up fights for
Shabbos,
about entering the cage with Gd on your
lips,
about you, about how you opened your
home,
welcomed all to your table, to your circle,
and still
called me Coach even that last
time.
I didn’t know as much as I should
have.
I can find ten million excuses like
that.
Never lied to you and said it gets
better.
But I never begged you to try anyway.
I’m
just a man and I can’t be better than
I can.
*
Just as the Kohen
Gadol
wore vestments
gold,
a reminder of our missing the
target,
before us and not
Gd,
a change of clothes,
no
gold to remind Him
as
if He needed to
be
reminded of the
calf
born of collection
and
mass psychosis,
loss
and fear and wonder for
Moshe –
just as the Kohen
Gadol
gently admonished
us
with the golden imagery and
gloss –
the mariner’s curse my blessing,
so
to you I beg, wedding guest, next of kin,
hear
my plea: wear the gold for
me.
