So in my wanderings from Brooklyn to Puerto Rico,
somehow I ended up in Wisconsin.
Actually, I originally went there to go to school.
I thought that Wisconsin was where Oregon is, went there
for the ocean.
[LAUGHTER]
I was very disappointed there, and I hit some hard times.
And hard times are harder, I think, when it's that cold.
And so finally, I had run out of money and luck,
and was certified officially destitute by the social service
agency of my choice.
And I was sent to a charity called St. Vincent de Paul--
St. Vinnie's-- for some free food.
And while there, the following incident occurred.
The poem is called "The St. Vincent de Paul Food Pantry
Stomp," Madison, Wisconsin, 1980.
"Waiting for the carton of food given with Christian suspicion,
even to agency-certified charity cases like me,
thin and brittle as uncooked linguine,
anticipating the factory-damaged cans of tomato soup, beets,
three-bean salad in a welfare cornucopia,
I spotted a squashed dollar bill on the floor.
And with a St. Vincent de Paul food pantry stomp, pinned it
under my sneaker, tied my laces meticulously,
and stuffed the bill in my sock like a smuggler of diamonds,
all beneath the plaster statue wingspan
of St. Vinnie, who was unaware of the dance named in his honor
by a maraca shaker in the salsa band of the unemployed."
[LAUGHTER]
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you.