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I shook his hand
after he introduced himself
to the only son
of the woman
whose funeral
was exactly
forty-nine years ago
come Sunday.
He was the reason
my parents met in 1943
on a blind date in Harlem
at the Audobon Ballroom.
No, he wasn't a friend
of both parties.
He was the scheduled dance date
of the woman in the casket
but he took ill and a substitute
was needed.
Larry shook my hand
and it was white on black.
He was a caucasian coal miner
whose hand was solid black
or so it felt
at my mother's funeral.
I think I thanked him
for being sick on
that Audobon day
but I said no more
than that.
He was hunched over
and wore tattered sneakers.
He looked like he hadn't been
healthy since that day in 1943.
Two years after the Audobon date,
these two people were wed ➨
Linda was born the next year.
I was born in 1949
and Judith arrived
in 1955.
Our father had died
six months before our mother.
The three newly orphaned siblings
were in no mood for laughter
at their mother's funeral
but Larry conspicuously
introduced himself to each of us.
When we got home that night
I said
We all got to meet
our Hunchback of Notre Dame
and we all ended up on the floor
from laughing so hard.
Despite my sisters' marginal skepticism,
I was certain that laughter
resonated (and was duplicated)
in the heavens.
© PAUL OLIVERIO
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