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910 Via Padova, Claremont, Ca. (Mike Piazza Edit) (Free verse) by Jeremi B. Handrinos
"Our little bachelor pad"
That's what you called it.
My junior year in highschool.
I never saw you that much.
You were dealing drugs and
working construction with Charlie.
You bought me a motorcycle,
and sometimes, on the weekends,
we would go to Pier 1 imports,
and buy thousands of dollars
worth of useless shit that
never left their boxes.
Next door was that
famous ceramicist, but I can
never recall her name.
In the morning, while I would be
washing dishes. I would see
her in her backyard, smoking a joint
and kicking out a vase. She
must of been 70 at the time.
Boy, she was a hoot.
That catcher from the Dodger's
had the house across the street.
Mike Piazza, or some shit similiar.
Maybe one Z, but anyway I used
to get off on pulling up next to him
on his tenspeed while he would be
riding in the morning, and I would
be going to school... I would say,
And he would try to ignore me,
but then I would say.
"Overpaid fat fucking fag Jock, you
SUCK! AND SO DO THE DODGERS, ha!"
He would start screaming all kinds
of foul hype, but I would just keep
three feet in front of him all the
way down the mountain. Then right
at the stop sign I would wait for
him to get right on top of me...
Just to drop my clutch, and smoke
that bastard out.