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
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