Killing Cockroaches

1959

Don’t know why I remember my father killing
a nest of cockroaches beneath our kitchen sink
in the three-room apartment for our family of five

maybe because at ten I was afraid of cockroaches
and maybe because I was not unafraid of my father
and maybe because of the stark sight of my father

on his knees in his underwear wielding a shoe
like a hammer the heel smashing cockroaches
making smashing squishing crackling sounds

or maybe because such real-life midnight violence
loomed larger than earlier murderous noir menace
via The Untouchables on our tiny black & white TV.