Morgan Michaels

At a quarter past the hour there came a knock at the door-
it was Giorgio, late as usual.
'Giorgio, you're late', I yelled from my chair.
I knew it was him. He had a very personal knock.
Besides, I was expecting him.

It was getting dark. That's not true-it was dark already.
Traffic on the Avenue was jammed. Horns were wailing.
Head lights, street lights, on, on.
What excuse would he give this time?
Giorgio was what we called a 'space cadet',
come from what you might well call 'generation text',
as any my age would readily agree.
Brooklyn-born and bred, his name despite,
Giorgio was ultra-likeable, if distractible,
but I was unprepared for what came next.

'Doc, there was this fascinating show on TV-
I mean FAS-cinating. I couldn't stop watching.'

'Oh', I said, without much interest,
irked to be undone by a re-run.

'It was called 'Grimm's Stories'. On channel 31
There's lots. Have you heard of them? '

'uh-huh, I replied, looking at my notes,
I think I've heard of the Grimm's things-
somewhere along the line.'

'Well, this one was about a little old guy with a long beard.
Him and this chick made a deal.
He'd do all her work for free
if she could guess his name.
And she did! '

'Sure, ' I said, sitting back,
'I remember that one.
It's called....

-So one night...