A Poem for Purim
Lynching Haman Strange fruitspoon dollopedinto the floury centerof this soon to be folded over cookie. Your ears,We rip from the side of your head and chew,Tyson-Holyfield ritually re-ineacted. There are songs about the hatyou once purchased from Shushan’s finest haberdasheryIf it didn’t have three corners, would you have, indeed, chosen more of a beret? We erase your name from our files.Delete.We shout it down.We write it in chalk on the bottom of our Florsheim’s and we stomp.It is great fun….