Kingfish

I never saw my father throw a baseball

he was no jogger

he was working the cash register at my godfather’s curb store

when in saunters this guy

in a tie-dye ski mask

pointing a pistol though not impolitely

demanding cash

was this after your dad smoked-out with Audrey

of the feather boas bad sonnets Quaaludes

from the fourplex across the hall

was he “nervous”

he didn’t like pot for that very reason

instead of squeezing

the trigger on this huge .357 resting on a mount just under the counter

and blowing the robber into an eternity of Funyuns

my father leans over this large jar of pickled pigs’ feet

and with one left hook

knocks the poor dude out

did he levitate

who

your dad

not that time but how embarrassing

it must have been for that man

trying to rob my godfather’s store

lying on the cement floor on the other side

of his own gun

waiting for his and my dad’s

least favorite people

the cops

before they hauled the guy off in a squad car

my father shook his cuffed hand

wished him luck

a guy whose ass you kick might end up your best friend

he always said to me

never humiliate

another man

you thought your father was special

demigod sorcerer

more than any regular

golden gloves

candidate for

electroshock

he laid so many bricks by the eighth grade—

which is when he dropped out—

he woke one morning to discover

he’d worn the fingerprints

off his fingers

his hands like poisonous unidentifiable butterflies

they were trying to sell some Rolex watches

you mean Folex watches

and how does it feel to be the son of Moses

let me guess he had

a huge

IQ 165 according to the Air Force

but he was more Odysseus

as the rag wearing singer

the world his home that couldn’t quite place him

but let him hang around just for the hell of it

all the wine swindlers

picking pork from their teeth with a king’s daggers

having slain the last cattle of the sun

anyone can tell you he was

inexplicably charming

especially wearing

a beggar’s skin

his old friends called him Kingfish

in the matter of the jewelry

upon which he rowed

the great johnboat

of enterprise

always fight the badass first

to work that job you had to tighten the nut

you had to meet Johnny Zesso

he’d give you a Rolex

tell you to take it to every pawn shop in Jackson

and let him know if anyone said it was fake

so Dad took it around

came back and reported ten pawnshops said it was real

two said fake

then Johnny said you didn’t go to all the pawn shops

and he took my father downtown

and between two tall buildings

at the end of this long alley barely wide enough to pass through

without turning sideways

alley my dad said he never knew existed

there was this small OPEN sign

on a locked door

and past that

a hallway maybe thirty yards long at the end of which sat

an old Jewish man on a stool in a beautiful white suit

with these huge eyeglasses that made

his eyes blink in slow motion

he said the watch was fake

he knew

because he made it

here’s ten more now go

his mother’s people were from Beirut

that says it all

when I was four swinging my legs

from the counter of the curb store where my godfather let me sit

elbow deep in a wide-mouth jar

of these oatmeal cookies big as classroom wall clocks

my dad picked me up

and as I was bootless in my cowboy pajamas

he carried me out

to this green Cadillac

where stood my godfather

along with Uncle R they popped the trunk

and what might have been an electric guitar

inside red velvet was in fact

a Fyodorov-Ivanov Model 1924 twin barrel

tank mount (optional) machine gun

fresh from the USSR

USS argh

what are you now

apologist for la petite mob

fleet greyhounds of your memory

matched only

by the over-groomed and useless

poodles of Lethe

I never

saw Uncle R

after that

but when my father died he called

no idea how he found my number but not for a life-

time’s supply of Brylcreem

would that sweet old tater eater

have given me

his address

how bad did it get

my daughter had a fresh dirty diaper

Dad out-ran the hurricane moved in to my spare room

but his cancer returned

it was new years day 2007 and Dad wanted the bank

to give him all his money back

he’s moving to the country to live with some kids

unlike me they’re great

I ask if he’s met them “no” he says

I ask if they even exist “no”

this is my cue that he’s off his meds trending psychotic

and that whatever he says

should not upset me

he says so many things

all of which upset me soon I’m screaming you’ve been nothing

but a drain since I was six

regretting it even as I said it

he did not raise his hand

he smiled what you might call the “you’re my only son” smile

as if proud of me

for veering

from a lifelong

habit of lies

what have you learned from this

never go outside without a shirt unless you’re boxing or at a swimming pool

don’t spit on concrete

you might drink Old Milwaukee or whiskey straight up

the stranger is my guest

the janitor my wisdom

treat every wandering singer in a puke-stained foreigner’s drug-rug

like the Angel Gabriel