Oh Rosemarie
They were buried in separate cemeteries.
Rosemarie Uva, age 31, and her 29 year old
husband Thomas Uva were in their Mercury
Topaz, in heavy traffic and stopped
at a light when each took three bullets.
The Topaz kept rolling and hit a parked car.
Christmas Eve morning. The Uvas were out
last-minute shopping. Ex-cons, for six
months they’d robbed social clubs allegedly
owned by the Mafia. Christmas Eve
in Ozone Park, her police officer brother
had to tell his mother her daughter’s dead.
She had dark brown eyes, long brown hair.
A clear night in December, at the wheel
of the idling Topaz she watched two kids
wearing hoods cross the street.
A jet’s roar faded as the plane climbed.
The radio playing “sittin on the dock..,”
Thomas bolted out the Paradise Club’s door.
His Uzi and a bag filled with cash
and jewelry in back, he got in beside her.
They sped off. Three blocks later, riding
shotgun in a Caddy, James Rocco wrote
on a matchbook the Topaz’s plate number.