You are like the ocean tree in winter.
Your suffocating, dark womb devoid of ripe fruit.
Black branches clackedy-clack your brittle gossip
Whore whore whore – I’ll slit your throat yet –
their bark black as an officer’s boot at Auschwitz.
Your high-kick step is not that of a dancer,
but a goose-step in honor of Der Fuhrer –
You meet her each time you look in the mirror.
You play hangman with his name.
It passes the time anyway, simple and singular as your hate –
the word remains the same
Jew Jew Jew
Not your, false orthodox Mediterannean –
you are the ordinary American housewife – trouble, strife.
No mistress you – then who?
You shine your army issue light,
seeking evidence in the corners,
mark each sacred thing with a star of David – certain demolition.
You’ll tear down any love or like that’s not for you.
You’ll kill that mistress kike – a maidel a vaydel.
He had escaped your muddied grounds;
ran shrieking, skin barbed-wire shread
he came straight to me and I took him in without question or reservation.
And with no hesitation I loved him and I he loved.
Such things you can never understand;
the simple joy of his soft-hand.
You’d snap it at the wrist: teach him your schoolmarm lesson,
tell him, That’s what we do to adulterers where I’m from.
You always fail to understand, it never was that.
It is you with the deep and sordid bellow, hystrionics in the living room,
screaming in tongues through the phone wire,
while behind you with each hateful, jealous word he dies a little more,
and because he dies, that I am slipped into his heart, I die too.
You – you in your shit-brown uniform,
marching camp grounds.
Tell yourself you were just following orders.
You had given your true oath.

*dedicated