LI BAN

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.

BUT WHO MAKES THE MUSIC?

 

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."

MACHINE INTELLIGENCE

 

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.

FAMILY

 

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.

 

IN THE MARKET

 

That woman from whom you 

Just now bought a shoelace -- 

Sturdy, dark-eyed, a bit stout --

Was Persephone until she saw

Some Spring's first blossom 

And wasn't at all surprised.

MIRROR

 

Knowing it's for the last time, he leaves his bed

And goes to say farewell to his reflection

Who fails to keep the appointment, sending

Some transparently untrustworthy stranger

With uncombed hair and shifty eyes.

BEING INFORMED

 

Esther would have known that after she died

It would be necessary to spill out any water

Standing in the house no matter where it was

Since the Angel of Death -- known to be 

Curiously fastidious -- might have rinsed his knife

Before hurrying to his next appointment.