1872 Osława Dąbrowa - 1898 Saint Paul
I was always big for my age. I always stood up for myself
And my little brothers and sisters.
I didn't mind. I liked a little scrapping and fighting.
Pa stopped smacking me when I was thirteen:
Smart decision on his part: added a couple of years to his life.
I didn't hate school, but I wasn't good at it.
I'd rather skip out and pick up some cash
Doing odd jobs or filling in at the saw mill.
One Friday in March, Pa had come home drunk
And complaining about how tough he had it
And started laying into Ma, as he would do on Fridays.
My sister Aggie ran to get me.
Here comes the part you won't read in the paper.
Yes, he did fall against the stove,
He did chase Ma out the back door with a flatiron
And he did fall heavily down the steps.
Mostly because I shoved him heavily
And let him lie there for maybe half an hour.
Next morning the cops and the coroner agreed
That Pa's brain ruptured or something like that.
That Monday I went to work full time at the mill
And picked up cash from wrestling matches
Around Winona County.
When the war came, Company E enrolled me
As a private in the US Army. I was big and tough
And ready to fight against the Spaniard.
So, of course, I fell ill with typhoid fever
And died in the St. Paul hospital, all the time wondering
What would happen when I met Pa on the other side.
821 East King Street
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