JERZY

They called it "the cooler"
which was the refrigerated room
in the dairy where I worked those two
summers. Chicago in the sixties
was the Richard Daley era -- remember
the ‘68 Democratic Conventions? --
and seminary students got a view
of life unavailable to most pastors-
to-be. Jerzy spent his entire day
in the cooler, coat zipped up to his
throat, gloved hands flapping against
thighs for warmth. He liked to talk.

His Polish accent festooned tales
of World War II and how, during
the African campaign, when Kate
Smith visited the troops and sang
"God Bless America," he broke down
and cried like a baby. The summer
help took turns assisting him, grateful
for a respite from the heat
of the packing room, equally
grateful for listening to his chatter.
My first time in, he said so
you gonna be a priest? So then,
you Cathlic, Looteran or Protestant?

I tried to explain and failed.
It didn't matter.