My Cousin Alan
My Cousin Alan...
bicycles wush and weave
inside and around Rockaway bungalows
Alan in the lead
Marty, Matty, Sasha, and I holding up the rear,
baseball cards
snapping on clothespinned spokes
Beach 28 St breezes enticing late afternoon appetites-
Jerry's knishes,
Aunt Doris's garlicky leg of lamb,
cherry ices...
and every beach morning
we'd play "Alamo"
Alan is Davey Crockett
the rest of us his helpers
he's older:
"bring more dry sand, hurry,
the Mexicans are destroying the walls!"
but though the waves kept coming
we of course believed him
heroically dragging our full rusty blue buckets-
Alan could fix everything!
and those Rockaway summer nights
when we would get lost
being crazy
boardwalk hustlers
banging bumper cars
comparing arcade prizes
running against, dodging fake tackles,
and later Marty and I could never fall asleep
the laughter became contagious
Alan's favorite "dirty joke":
"What does one burp say to the other burp?"
"Let's come out the other end and be stinkers"
one of my bakery uncles in the next room
somewhere around 2:00 AM:
“shut up in there, you guys!”
growing up with Alan
sleep was always irrelevant,
fatigue impossible,
my cousin's energy
more than enough for us all...
and at Passover in Paterson,
us boys endlessly goofing,
obviously blaming little Marty,
but my mother and Aunt Sophie knew better,
knew Alan was the brains of the outfit
and I was the thief who stole the Afikoman
who got caught shaking the long table
spilling Elijah's wine
while all the time
Alan smiling back at Bubby,
innocently,
like some beloved Italian Don...
yes, my cousin Alan
all six foot something of him
could outrun the entire Beachhurst football team
could out jump any of my Paterson friends
knew all the words of all those old rock and roll songs
could out think out analyze any of his teachers
out write any editor
out charm any woman
out jazz even Charlie Parker...
that’s why I am angry at the big dealer
who shuffled then dealt him those cheatin cards
from the bottom of the deck,
so I've been incensed throughout his MS years
with whoever poisoned our Adonis,
once glowing and influential
brashly brilliant and alive
longhaired and sardonically hip...
but it all must begin again, somehow, we know,
now that all his plays remain heaped inside Pasadena notebooks,
those oil paintings unsigned-
still, I am certain
the immortal bebop resides in his eternal ear,
I am positive
he will continue to amaze
inspire
we survivors
running wild,
as our memories,
the laughter
will forever keep him young
carry on his restless spirit
to witness another brilliant rebirth
3/20/13
Delray Beach