marvelous here, say the civic leaders,
wonderful that we’ve got

coney island hotdogs,
the kenmore,
the boulevard,

the numbers,
the cardinal,
the hotel vernon;

ralph’s diner,
ralph’s tavern,
ralph’s plumbing.

gotta love that blue collar charm.

it’s almost scriptural for some that
having a lot of guys
named ralph in your town
can make a place unique —

until you get on the road
and find the next
flock of ralphs
because there’s always
a next flock of ralphs
even if they pretend
to different names.

i once ate a pizza
in a bar in suburban chicago
and damned if the guy who made it
wasn’t a ralph
with the same lithe fingers
and dumb drunk charm as the ralph
i dropped off at his apartment
just before i left worcester.

if ten blind men named ralph
put their hands
on the walls of any city,
they’d complain about
the same ten different things.

nothing in worcester
is different enough
to make me want to stay,
anywhere else
is the city i want to live in,
i am afraid i’ll get lost
and come back around
no matter how far away i go,

so this is just to say
i’m changing my name to ralph
because if i’m going to stay
or even if i end up leaving,
i want to make an effort to fit in.

first i’ll breed my gripes
in the marrow of my thighs
and try to keep my eyes open.

then, with a name like any other,
no matter where i am
it’ll feel like home
when i set my hands flat against the walls
and begin to speak disdainfully

of ralph the pothead
at the door of the blues club
that ought to be called ralph’s
but for some reason isn’t,

of ralph the worst cop in town
who for some reason here is named
maritza,

never mentioning ralph the whiny sumbitch
straining against
the bricks, closing his eyes
again, translating for himself

the nickoby tavern, the blackthorn
social club, el coqui, lafayette’s feather,
yet another coney island, yet another george’s,

yet another band of ralphs
simmering in the evening, staring
at the road out of town.