A Tale of Two Girards Features Death in Many Forms (Verse Format)

A Tale of Two Girards Features Death in Many Forms

 

(Verse format)

                                           Gary Marvin Davison

 

The history of Minneapolis

has always been a tale of two Girards.

 

And so goes the tale to this day:

 

On Girard Avenue South,

she awakens

in a warm sixteen by sixteen

space of her own

to the smell of

bacon frying,

toast toasting,

brief cases flying,

people preparing to go out buying. 

She brushes,

bustles,

bathes

and

eats

before hopping into her Honda Accord,

a gift at the dawn of her seventeenth year,

for the drive to St. Paul Academy

and

a day of college preparation.

 

On Girard Avenue North,

she awakens in a cold cubicle

that she shares with two little sisters,

washes her face,

brushes her teeth,

helps her sisters get ready

and strides to the corner

to catch the bus

and

the ride to North High School,

where a welcome free breakfast

will still the rumbling in her stomach,

if not the trouble in her heart.

 

On Girard Avenue South,

he gets up to the cheery sound

of

piped in tunes,

the smell of pancakes,

and

the promise of preparation

in his bathroom adjacent

to his

twelve by eighteen space in the world. 

Doctor Momma has already left for the clinic; 

Professor Daddy drives him to a day

where college begins at grade five,

Breck Academy,

Harvard University Preparatory School

of the Midwest.

 

On Girard Avenue North,

he arises, his ears still ringing

from a night of scattered gunshots

and
sirens racing into dark less dark

than the tenor of his soul. 

Mama never came home,

daddy never has been,

so since he’s on his own,

he thinks he’ll just skip school this time.  

Down on Humboldt, a new family awaits,

not the best dudes,

he knows that,

but offering

protection,

perilous profit,

gratification now

for mortality coming too soon. 

Seems better than Bethune Elementary.

 

Once back at Girard Avenue South,

she greets her private tutor; 

she only got a 33 on her first try at the ACT so,

knowing that many of her Yale competitors

these days are scoring a perfect 36,

she obtains the professional boost

that purchased their success. 

She’s not sure what the latter means,

but she knows it’s grand

and

will make mom and dad proud.

 

Once back on Girard Avenue North,

she does her worksheets for history homework,

given to her by a teacher without explanation

and

in the absence of contextual discussion. 

She tries to do her algebra II homework,

but she passed algebra I and geometry

with a “C” without really grasping the subjects,

and

her current teacher shows no interest

in advancing her skill; 

from her roost at the creaky dining room table

her little sisters are way more noisy than creaky,

so she gives up. 

Momma won’t be back until late,

the little ones will need to be fed,

and not long after dinner and television

they’ll all get sleepy enough for bed.

 

Once back at Girard Avenue North,

after violin lessons,

he does his algebra homework,

carefully,

because he knows mastery will be

important for understanding calculus

a few years hence: 

Doctor Momma and Professor Daddy

told him so. 

Algebra done, he saves history homework

and

an initial draft of his English research paper

for after dinner,

tortellini

professionally presented

by the cook with Caesar salad and home-baked bread. 

Homework done,

a look at his Chinese assignment for the Saturday school,

another round of the violin,

and he’s off to bed.

 

Springing from Girard Avenue South,

having successfully attained that 36 on the ACT,

she's off to Yale in the autumn,

faces of mom and dad all aglow.

 

Still stuck at Girard Avenue North,

she endures a pregnancy

incurred out of ever-present

boredom

and

options

never offered.

 

Proceeding from Girard Avenue South

from grade 5 to grade 6,

he’s at the top of his class

and

on a path to succeed; 

although success remains a mystery,

he’s seen it many times.

 

One day the fast life grabs him

walking out of Girard Avenue North,

throws him down,

and

puts a bullet in his head. 

Momma returns home

and

even

daddy returns now to groan

about

“My baby.” 

The teachers and principal at Bethune,

those who had ignored him as one of those

bringing the problems of society into their hallways,

feign concern,

mumbling something about,

“He was a mighty fine boy when he got himself to school.”

 

And thus goes the tale of two Girards,

where hypocrisy abounds,

success is elusive even when attained,

and death is often premature

but comes in many forms.