Pulled Southward

She's heading south

She says she doesn't recongnize the face in the glass

So next week she'll leave, but I can follow, I can make my way

southward

Perhaps I can grow old in an undershirt

and play checkers and smoke cigars in a park

like the Cuban gentlemen do

I can squint in the afternoon sun

and drive past the shacks and pines and debris

of other peoples small dramas

Perhaps I can see things clearly

Perhaps...

There has been too little recognition,

too many departures in my time

Perhaps I can follow and wander in the heat amid the vines and beaches

No Jew I, no longer Christian, just a northern boy

pulled southward