By some error, though we were
Seeking to summon the
Thirty-Six Immortals of
Japanese Poetry so we could
Paint them for the Shogun, we
Wound up with Thirty-five Immortals
Of Japanese Poetry and a bear.
There's no time to try again;
Assistant! Get that bear a writing brush!
Bear! Do your best to look immortal!
Ono No Komachi! Stop laughing!
By some error, while we were
Seeking to summon the
Thirty-Six Immortals of
Japanese Poetry so we could
Paint them for the Shogun we
Wound up with Thirty-five Immortals
Of Japanese Poetry and a bear.
There is no time to try again;
Assistant! Get that bear a writing brush!
Bear! Do your best to look immortal!
Ono No Komachi! Stop laughing!
The great sage
Eleazar
Could, by magic,
Make food appear
Unfortunately,
Only cucumbers
(Still!)
Speaking as a mermaid I
Consider saints unnatural
Creatures who benefit
Unfairly from having unlimited
Lines of Credit from the Bank
Of God. Speaking as a saint I
Suspect mermaids to be dubious
Metaphors inspired by
An unhealthy distaste for sex
And women in general.
Speaking as both : The Universe
Does things it will probably regret
If ever it comes back to its senses.
There was no saint on duty so a
Visiting arhat was pressed
Into service to tell the gathering
That an assembly of all the angels
That are or were or ever might be
Would be dangerous and unlawful "unless,"
He added, "they're dancing on the point
Of a pin. That, of course, is quite all right."
The machine looking through me
Grumbles and clanks and shrieks
With exasperation. Why is that bone there?
You call those kidneys? I could make better ones
From pipe-cleaners and a plastic sponge!
And what's that thing pretending I don't see it?
Really, when they put this man together
They should've come to me for advice.
Hey you -- Yechiel called Charles!
And you -- Someone called Shepsie!
I've not enough of either of you
For a poem but the customer's urgent
And no one else is on duty tonight
Do you think between the two of you
You can manage to cast a shadow?
Yechiel,
You're up first. What facts are known
About you? Well, you once managed
Some sort of factory and saw a girl
Who wore red striped stockings
While she worked; you married her
And had eight children one of whom
Was my mother's step-mother Fanny.
That she, the designated "stay at home
Caring for your parents daughter" got married
Did not release her from her duty;
You and your wife Zlateh called Jenny,
But also called Goldie, lived out your years
In my grandfather Joe's house
Where Jenny quickly made its kitchen
The People's Republic of Jenny.
My mother could always enter freely;
Everyone else had to ask or be invited.
(Enough already with Zlateh-Jenny-Goldie!
Another word and the poem is hers;
God knows what she'd do with it! )
How did Charles spend the day?
Not known. (There's a confused tale
Of him building a house that fell down.)
Did he ever learn to open a can
Of condensed milk with a meat-cleaver?
Doubtful. My mother told stories
About almost every one, but my father
Had to tell me of the striped stockings.
What've you got for me, Shepsie?
Not even your real name. I heard of you
Only once when my father and his brothers
And sisters suddenly asked each other
"Do you remember Shepsie?" They did;
He was the man who so loved their father Max
That he bought a grave next to Max's -- nowhere near
Where Shepsie's family lies.
Shepsie would do anything for Max
But a good day's work; every so often Max
Had to fire him. Then he'd hire him back
Since how could he let Shepsie starve?
We must be getting near the end of the poem;
I can see a moral barreling down the road,
Weaving dangerously as it goes. Well,
Maybe not a genuine moral but more
Of an observation: In life some of us
Get the girl in red stockings who knows
How to open a can with a meat cleaver
And some of us get Shepsie.
