A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
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.
Copyright 2019 Baruch November. First published in Bar Mitzvah Dreams published by Main Street Rag.