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Reflections in May
* How ya doin’
* The Fusco family has been operating at full throttle lately with our twin daughters Amanda and Heather planning October ‘05 and May ‘06 weddings respectively. They dragged my ass to the Mall last week under the pretense of looking at their wedding rings:
“Bling! Bling!�
I should’ve known it was a trap. My daughter inviting me to the mall to look at her prospective wedding-ring. My future son-in-law good friends with the young bespectacled jeweler. My wife gazing lovingly at the diamond Anniversary ring suddenly the Bargain of the Century at $3,000.
“Look how it shines, Dad!�
“That’s a great deal he’s giving you, Mr. Fusco.�
“Look how it shines, oh loving husband of mine!�
“Bling! Bling!...Bling! Bling!�
I’m not a big jewelry guy. Wear my wedding ring and a Signet watch. No gold chains or bracelets or pinky-finger decor. A stainless steel toe-ring when I wear sandals and feel a little “metro-sexual� in the summer.
A $3,000 Bling! Bling! doesn’t seem like the Bargain of the Century to me. We could replace 8 1/2 windows on the second floor of the house, buy a Celtics’ 20-game ticket-pack, trade our shitty van in for a less shitty model.
On the other hand (her hand actually), my wife really loves the ring. We had to go chintzy 20 years ago when money was tight. We’ve raised six children together and she’s the best friend/lover/soulmate in the world.
I pull the Visa from my wallet like a reluctant gunman.
“It comes with a written guarantee,� my new best friend the jeweler explains.
“It better read- Unlimited sex for 5 years. I pick the times, places, and orifices.� I smile lovingly then hold my wife’s hand to the light.
“Bling! Bling!...Bling! Bling!�
* The “sandals� mentioned in the poem were a giant stop in my “footwear� development, that further enhanced the “metro-sexual look� I strive for now at fifty!
Sandals
* For my 49th birthday, my wife bought me my 1st
pair of sandals.
* Till then, my sense of foot-wear fashion leaned towards
black sneakers with white tube-socks stretched to my calves.
* Tentative at first, I continued to wear the white tube-
socks under the sandals converting them to “mandals� a
term my daughters coined to describe footwear worn
by men stupid enough to put on socks under sandals.
* When I finally and boldly removed the socks, it felt like I
had traded in the gray family-van for a shiny red convertible.
Suddenly, I was very aware of my Feet!
* My Feet- Resting naked on a bed of leather, strapped
in tight like the “M� in a “S + M� session.
* My Feet- Bald except for the hairs on my toe-
knuckles, the most attractive part of a woman’s body
next to belly-hair, by the way.
* My Feet- With the 2nd toe skyscraping the 1st, the
4th toe webbed to the 3rd, the little one hidden &
motionless like the goldfish at the bottom of my Aunt Faye’s aquarium.
* I became so enamored of my new foot-wear that,
after winning $100,000 on the lottery, I bought diamond-
encrusted sandals because now I’m really well-heeled.
* A year from now, on my historic 50th, my wife swears she’s
buying me brown penny-loafers (another 1st!) so I’ve saved
the white tube-socks, but for now it’s my sandals, the
open toes & a cloud of dust. Hi-Ho Silver, away!
* Of course, the mere mention of “sandals� brings images of beloved Summer. I’ve been accused at times of a dearth of “nature� poems in my portfolio, a misconception hopefully corrected by the following poems:
Blue Thumb
Our lawn is finally getting that scorched-earth
look I’m so fond of,
Tumbleweed gold & brown with a dash of crabgrass.
I mix baby-oil in the sprinkler to hasten the
baking process,
I smoke Camels by the hedges to stunt their growth.
The goal is to reduce yard maintenance to once
a month during the 62-day hell we call
July & August.
I sit in our air-conditioned family room plotting
like a Roman senator,
My green thumb turning blue.
“The Birch�
Our new neighbors cut down the Birch in their
backyard.
I’m no nature-lover, subscribing to the theory that
black-top is the finest lawn-treatment money can buy, but
the absence of that majestic tree nearly brings a tear
to my eye.
Our new neighbors’ son plays in the pile of sawdust
that once shaded family picnics and sheltered small
rabid animals.
For the first time, we can see the backyard of the
neighbors two houses down and boy does it need attention!
On the rim of our birdbath, a robin stands with
a pebble stuck on a worm around her neck.
“ Those stupid bastards, wait ‘till the blue jay hears about
this,� she chirps before taking the plunge.
* I even wrote a “nature� poem and submitted it to the Worcester County Poetry Association contest this year and was told it finished in the top 82 entries:
My Nature Poem
It’s the morning after a 10-inch snowstorm.
The sun is peeking out over the triple-decker across the street,
Taunting me.
I hate winter in Worcester.
The barren branches of the city’s trees look morbid in their white shrouds.
Everything is so goddamn slushy.
I ruin a pair of socks every time I walk down the front steps to get the morning paper.
I hate winter in Worcester.
The snow-flurries predicted by the exuberant meteorologist are measured by a yardstick.
Potholes contain relics of fallen Volkswagens.
Icicles on the side of our house hang like death-threats.
I hate winter in Worcester.
Spring is just around the corner but it’s the longest goddamn block in New England.
Then, summer follows with its scorched earth, endless highway construction, and crowded city pools.
I hate summer in Worcester,
Too.
* Any mention of “nature� and the Fusco family wouldn’t be complete without the following poem about my one & only camping experience:
Camper Joe
My 10-year-old son & I lay on our backs at
the Boy Scouts’ campsite staring up at
the constellations.
“You see that bunch of stars shaped like a naked
heavy-set woman. That’s the Big Stripper!�
I tell him.
Later that night, we roast weenies & toast
marshmallows & tell scary ghost stories.
When I wake up in the middle of the night
to go to the bathroom, the zipper on our
tent gets stuck.
“What’s that smell!� my son asks when he wakes up
next morning.
“Bears,� I reply.
* That’s all for now. We’ll talk again in a couple of months. Take Care.
Joe Fusco Jr.
Submitted by bardofaisle9 on Saturday, May 21, 2005 (04:34:48) (1924 reads)
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Re: Reflections in May
(Score: 1 )
by bardofaisle9 on Monday, June 06, 2005 (22:49:47) |
i thoroughly enjoyed the column... since i am the editor extradonaire... and the favorite daughter.. and best family athlete... just playin....love you dad...
love sami
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