Surely
my Grandfather Joe noticed
That
a banshee attended upon
My
Grandfather Max. This was not
The
sort of company Brooklyn Jews
Was
supposed to keep in 1946
Nor
were they commonly shadowed
By
relays of bats when out late.
Still,
though Joe could not help seeing
Banshees
and dybbuks and their kin
Or
knowing that his boss's wife
Was
a golem whose wig tried to hide
The
word written on her forehead,
He
knew, much too well, how
To
act as if the world did not
Insist
on showing him its wonders.
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