Part Two of POOP Update

 I had been telling this story to Rem when I lost the whole thing, so I decided to blog it.

When I worked as a therapist at Bristol Bensalem, there was a guy who played the system like a violin.

He never did a lick of work yet always got his welfare check and food stamps.

Don't get me wrong. When I was a young mother, my ex barely gave me any money, so I also went on food stamps and got a welfare check in the mail.

MORE PEANUTS PLEASE.

Coming, Dear.

Not to brag, but I was the most popular therapist there. Look, I was just nice to people and treated them like human beings.

So I arranged with the receptionist to take long lunch hours. She was Linda Cleighton, by the way, and her daughter married a Jew and was very happy.

So I drove over to the banks of the Delaware River, which, at that point, was just a little tributary, and I went and began to sit down.

And then I noticed Matt, I'll call him, lying on the grass staring upward at the sky.

And that is the story.

Let's find a photo of someone named Matt and post it below.

Meet Matt Sato. There for the grace of God go I.

Earlier today, I called Bernie Samuels of Paul's Run in Philly and asked him if he received my poem about his wife Freda.

Yes, he said, it was very nice. Lovely, he said.

My father had taught me the importance of speaking of the dead in front of them. Once we were driving in his car, probly a pink Mercury Station Wagon, long and low, and Moritz from Majestic Specialties Inc where Dad worked, was sitting in the car.

Dad went out of his way to praise his wife and say what a wonderful woman she was, and tears ran down his cheeks.