Spring 2011, #17
       "INTERNATIONAL TYPES OF TALE PLUS ARCHIVE POEMS"

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Paris to New York

     by Harold Suretsky

Uncle Martin worked in a shoe store in Paris. He lifted French feet, measured them, felt for sore spots, ran to get just the pair of shoes that would soothe that troubled pair of French feet. Ahhh — that's much better, monsieur — so much better. Merci, monsieur. He worked hard and didn't get paid much. A month later — or so — Uncle Martin was throwing darts at French feet — and French heads — and French arms — and French bellybuttons — and anything French — from an airplane. Uncle Martin was from Berlin — and Germany had declared war on France. He still didn't get paid much. Thirty years later — or so — Uncle Martin went blind in China. He was a Jew — so he had to run away from Germany. About ten years after that, he married my blind Aunt Josephine in New Jersey. And even though he was blind, he could take the bus into New York on his own — tap–tap–tapping his white cane to find out where the bus steps began. And he didn't get paid at all.

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