The great-grandson of a tailor

Can't sew a button

Can’t eat herring

Been pushed at

Kiddush too many times

Sneered at

Patronized

Lectured.

The virus is only simchas

Clawing debris, cooling

The summer frees Washington

Heights to let down the hair and waists

Eventually my eyes blur, and

I squint, narrow them

Can’t keep my hair

Combed, shirt tucked, I melt.

Thus I turn to the relaxed

As I lay my arms on the

Table. It’s rooms are like

Coils. I cannot keep

My palms for more than 10

Seconds. My thoughts a

Full sensory focus

On ice cream.