Cousin Alan

bicycles wush and weave

inside around Rockaway bungalows

Alan always the lead

Marty, Matty, Sasha, and I holding up the rear,

baseball cards snappin on clothespinned spokes,

Beach 28 St breezes wheedlin late afternoon appetites:

Jerry's knishes

Aunt Doris's leg of lamb

Italian cherry ices

every beach morning we'd play "Alamo"

Alan as Davey Crockett

the rest of us his crew cause he's older:

" more dry sand, hurry,

the Mexicans are wreckin the walls!"

and the waves kept comin

and we kept runnin

draggin our tragic blue buckets

for Alan could fix everything!

and Rockaway summer nights

when we were crazy boardwalk hustlers

bangin those bumper cars

winnin arcade prizes 

sprintin dodgin fake tackles,

and later Marty and I could never fall asleep

our laughter contagious from

Alan's favorite "dirty joke":

"What does one burp say to the other burp?

Let's come out the other end and be stinkers"

childhood years with Alan

sleep was irrelevant,

fatigue impossible,

my cousin's energy 

more than enough for all

and the Paterson Passovers

found us boys endlessly goofin

blamin little Marty,

but Aunt Sophie and everybody knew better,

knew Alan was the brains of the outfit

and thought I was the thief who stole the afikoman

who shook the long table spilling Elijah's wine,

while all the time Alan innocently smilin at Bubby,

like some beloved Siciliano 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 50s songs,

could out think out analyze his teachers,

out write any editor,

out charm any woman,

out jazz even Charlie Parker!

so that’s why I am angry at the Big Dealer

who dealt him those lyin cheatin cards from the bottom of the deck,

who poisoned our Adonis throughout those MS years,

who took the life of a luminous and influential

brashly brilliant and alive

longhaired and sardonically hip man!

still we know it all must begin again

from those plays he left behind inside Pasadena notebooks,

from those oil paintings unsigned

still I am certain

the immortal bebop chords will reside in his eternal ear,

the memories he inspired will continue runnin wild

and the joy Alan sparked will forever keep him young

will carry on his restless spirit

to one day witness a divine and adoring rebirth

3/20/13

Delray Beach