BEC, SPK

Rocco, the fifty-eight-year-old laborer
on the job, had beat me to the deli again.
He was the coffee break boy for his company
despite his age; I was the same
because of mine. His order had already been placed
and he was sitting at a table reading the paper
when I walked through the door.

"Mornin, kid," he mumbled. "Take a number."

"Who are you kidding, Roc? Laborers can't read."

"I just look at the pictures," he said with a grin wise enough
to know to steal a man's thunder by beating him to the punch.

I read the breakfast list to the guy behind the counter
knowing he'd mess up at least one of the items.
Us coffee boys knew the place's reputation for errors
but the food was good and the devil we knew
was better than that other one.

"Have a seat, Mike," Rocco said, pulling out
a chair with his dirty steel-toed boot.

"Gave up trying to sound out the words?"
I wasn't giving up that easily.

He shot me a look that said "If you were my son
I would've just slapped you." Part of me wished he had.

"Lemme see that paper, pops," I said
in my best Brooklynese.

He slid the newspaper across the table towards me.
It was open to the horoscope page.

Rocco folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
Even though it had rained for most of the last month
his face was the color of a ripening tomato, a hint of olive
still present in the tentative red. His curly, gray hair was
matted down from where his hardhat had been; it looked
like something that should've been keeping a dog warm instead.
But those sparkling eyes were probably just as bright
as they were in his high school yearbook photo.
That was where I tried to focus my attention when talking to the man.

"Hey, look at this. It says it's a four-star day for Pisces.
My luck's finally changed." I went on to read my favorable prediction
not caring whether he wanted me to or not.
" 'Something that happened in your past will motivate you to move
forward with one of your old plans. Touch base with the people
who inspired you the first time around. The timing is much better now.'
Not bad, huh?"

"You're just an apprentice, your life is still meaningless," he replied.
I gave him credit for his witty sincerity. It was obvious he'd been meaning
to remind me of that fact for awhile.

"Maybe so, but at least it looks good on paper. What's your sign?"

"It depends on which newspaper it is. Some say I'm a Cancer, others
bump me ahead to a Leo. I pick whichever one sounds better that day."

I found them on the page. Neither of them had as many stars as mine, but
there was no mention of death, doom, or gloom. They didn't sound
as appropriate as mine had when I read them aloud, though maybe
that's because we all make them relative to our own secret lives somehow.

"Sounds like I'm going for Cancer this time, kid."

"That's the first time I've seen someone say that with a smile," I said
pointing to his pack of Reds sitting on the table between us.
"Don't you think that's a bit of a jaded way to assess your future?"

"The future can't hurt anyone as much as the past. I'm not scared."

For a guy who pushed a broom for a living he sure was making sense.

I glanced down at his hands, gnarled and scarred
like the roots of a tree clinging to the edge
of a too-fast river, the current having its way with the flesh.
We both knew which horoscope was truly his.
Our eyes drifted to the five-day forecast
on the television that hung in the corner of the deli
in an admirable attempt at acting aloof.
I decided to let him have his lie;
God knows there are a good twenty people
who let me live mine every day.
Maybe twenty-one, though I'm still not certain.

"Rocco, you're up," the sandwich man shouted.

"I win again, kid," Roc said as he rose to his feet
to pay for his coffee order. "Ya gotta get up pretty early
in the morning to get the best o' this old man."

I decided to let him have that one, too.