convention center
workers lean
over the balcony
and watch as
one would
ducks in a pond
on a spring day
they don't throw bread
but instead observe
the Black and White
of it all
and wonder what
the words mean
and why the women
sit separate,
a virus, perhaps?
the faceless girl
circles around
Al Capone
seven times
should be enough
they must be thinking;
most are gone by
the fourth revolution
they must have thought
this would go on all day…

Rebbetzin

your sadness is beautiful but
not to the touch
less tolerant than sun
i would like to admire it if not for
that it would melt me down
to bone and back.

B Jacob Sandock is a freelance writer (and former bingo hall manager) from Nowhere, Indiana. He is, sadly, not Yeshivish anymore, he speaks Russian badly and has no plans to move to NYC for a fourth time. His work has appeared in The 13th Warrior Review, Paisley Parsley's Parcel Post, Gnome, Boston Literary Magazine, SonicSlang Music and Culture, the Long Island Jewish World and in gritty, staple-bound streetmagz you'll never be punk enough to hear about...He can be reached for comment at vancortland74@aol.com.