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I needed a long walk after eating two gallons
of Rocky Road ice cream
in three days.
It was October and the 1971World Series
scooped it into my face
So I walked and walked
and forgot to sleep or eat.
I walked
all the way from Long Island
to Indiana.
When I got there
all I wanted was a cigaret
and a familiar face
offered me a Pall Mall.
I thanked him profusely
was my Father's brand.
He said "I knew that"
and he also knew my Mother
But the first words I spoke
to Kurt Vonnegut
—pointing to the shrubbery—
were Those are not Begonias
"That is correct, young man.
You sound like an almost intelligent person."
He lit my Pall Mall and let 1001 words
flow from my well-walked body.
I didn't mention Rocky Road ice cream
but all I talked about was
Rocky Point and Uncle Paul
and Aunt Pauline.
They lived on Begonia Road
but their driveway was flanked by
Hydrangeas of various hue
and the dinner they served
was what patrons of their
Manhattan restaurant
paid beaucoup bucks
to their endless delight.
I'll never forget those
mega-magnificent Italian meals
and the football games my cousins
—post-pasta—
played in a huge yard
with my sister Lynda
always being the winning quarterback.
—For the next fifty years—
every time I saw Hydrangeas
I thought of Begonia Road
and the bounty of those
special Sundays
beatified by
Paul and Pauline Nunzio.
"Paul, you are about to awaken
and I am about to fall deep asleep."
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