1

       ON JUPITER PLACE

      After my mother was diagnosed

      with tuberculosis I lived

      in one of the identical

      brick houses on a long street

      with my grandfather who worked

      twelve-hour days six days a week

      and my grandmother

      who was too restless

      to stay home for long

      so that I was often left on my own

      at age four with plenty of time

      to meet the neighbors

      Mr. Porti the building inspector

      who died of a heart attack

      behind the wheel of his Plymouth

      and Mr. Cleary the Con Ed linesman

      with the Marine Corps tattoo

      who chainsmoked Camels

      and his beautiful daughter Nora

      the nurse in her crisp uniform

      who worked the night shift

      and walked home from the bus stop

      every morning at eight

      and his son Neal Jr. arrested

      in Chinatown with a truckload

      of stolen fireworks

      and four doors down

      Mrs. Kornstein whose husband

      was gassed at Auschwitz

      where she received

      a different sort of tattoo

      the jagged numerals on her wrist

      that she refused to remove

      and two doors down from her

      behind a wall of evergreens

      Mr. Boehringer the baker

      a Bund member during the war

      who spoke only German at home

      and told anyone willing to listen

      including his granddaughter

      Heidi with her blond pigtails

      that Franklin Roosevelt was a Jew

      in league with Stalin —

      Heidi who ate uncooked

      hot dogs without buns

      they tasted like bologna she said

      which was what the Lazzeri twins

      Vincent and Little Steve

      piled on Silvercup bread

      with no mustard or mayo

      their father Big Steve a mobster

      who every Christmas

      gave his wife a fur coat

      and on their tenth anniversary

      a two-tone Coupe de Ville

      that he washed and waxed

      on Sundays in their driveway

      next door