Na Koncu Ullcy

the window was broken as the smell of stinking raw fish heads fresh bread and that mangy old dog barking always seemed to awaken me I dashed quickly for the back door to sneak down into the basement where coal was burning heating thee entire Irish stoned building smoke filled the chimney while up the street a Polish polka song being played in the middle of the day folk dancers lined the curb as sidewalk street sweepers interrupted the final song laughter and hymns opened my mind to Auschwitz beckoning old memories that settled within musik boxes old clocks and violins somehow behind katy gates i'd wondered how old Mr. Olgavich managed to dance to a simple tune called Americanist