ONLY WHEN YOU’VE DONE SOMETHING TRULY TERRIBLE

We have a couple renting from us
below. One morning the boyfriend
shouts FUCK!!
and I think, has he hit her? Is this
what I’ve brought into my house?

When they leave
I’m at the kitchen window
peering through the curtains
for the slightest limp
or look, but she’s chatting away
with a cigarette and he’s strolling
along with his hands in his pockets, and I am
standing there in my underwear, near-empty
milk carton in hand, feeling
a little ripped off. It’s only when I come home
to find they’ve taken out the garbage for me
do I begin to understand.

The next day I shout GODDAMIT!!
punch a hole in the wall
and plant some violets
under their window.

 

 

(c) 2007 Rocco de Giacomo

WARNING

Be careful of the immigrant
behind the counter: make sure
she uses gloves handling your strawberry tart.
The teacher at the newcomer program
may not have taught her
how important it is
to wash.

Make sure she gives you the correct change.
A newcomer, after all:
the coins are unfamiliar to her,
she might miscount or
think you careless.

Be careful of her, especially today
because she’s just learned
that an electrical component
she designed back home
has just entered orbit
in a rocket, miles above you,
and in her excitement,
there is no telling how
she might behave.

 

 

 

©2003 Rocco de Giacomo

Good Wednesday

She looks at me from behind the counter.
Italian, eh?
Do you go to Church?

I confess that I don’t go
as often as I should.
Italian boy like you should go to church.
What does your mother say about this?

I tell her my mother is English.
Sure, England everybody goes to church.
Good Catholic country.
Married?
What about your wife?
What does she say?

My wife is Laotian.
Pah?
From Laos. You know, between Vietnam and Thailand.
Oh.
I mean, she is Canadian, born here.
But her family is from Laos.
They’re Taoist, but their sponsors
over here were Baptist. So now
they’re a kind of mix of
Taoist and Baptist.

She regards me for a moment,
looks down at my invoice, draws a small line
across an unused portion, then looks me
straight in the eye and asks:

You want taxes, or no?