Baruch November: St. Louis Park, M.N.

It was a lethargic hate simmering

under the surface of ten thousand 

little green-brown lakes.

And it would flare up on bus rides

to and from what some

called “St. Jewish Park High,”

when they would ask how it felt

“to be a kike, to taste a baby’s

 blood, to kill a savior?”

But all that came to mind was,

“No, I never had the chance”

and to accept the ritual

of punishment at their fists,

while the great blondes

of my graduating class

stared out the frosted

bus windows, dreaming

of Nordic lovers.

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Copyright 2019 Baruch November. First published in Bar Mitzvah Dreams published by Main Street Rag.