Thursday, September 22, 2016


Most Jews don’t have a godmother
But I do: my mother's old friend Alice.
The pale blue congratulations she sent
When I was born spoke well of the world.
We lost touch after that; I presume she's dead
Since she’s begun dropping by my dreams.
A heavyset blonde with a pleasant face,
She sits down on a camp stool and complains
That my sins are a pale, uninteresting lot;
They should exercise, get out in the sun,
Shed their dark shirts and faded jeans
In favor of codpieces, ruffs and furbelows
Or at least put on vizards and purple cloaks
When they venture into the street. “Your sins
She says, “aren’t feared or loved. Change them!
Sins in farthingales, sins in  slashed doublets
Are the life of every party. When I answer for them,
I want folk to be amazed when we go by
In gaudy procession." She's from
So I guess I really shouldn't be surprised

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