Two Springtime Poems

Yom Kippur 2017

Another year passes without our knowing when to fast

But not when to feel a deep sense of guilt and shame,

Aware that some time in this season the day will pass

And even if the evening prayer forgets my name

There is no way to stand with others when the blast

Of the ancient horn is blown—no one to blame

For this negligence, this silent blasphemy.

In my mind there is somewhere a chicken’s neck

To twist and cast away misgivings, my

Little crumbs of lost belief, the wreck

Of memories from ancient nights when I

Stood next to my father, listened to the chant

Of a chazzan, felt the warmth of piety,

Unaware that this would be the last

Time we stood together man to man.

The Victory of Old Night

As if that weren’t enough, with the celestial clashes

Causing havoc across the Milky Way, the jungle

Animals that had been tamed in circuses

Decided as of one accord to give out lashes

To anyone who thwarted their desires. Bungle

This, shouted the creator of the universe, once again

And all the starry girders will be retracted, all enacted

Legislation made null and void.  No one listened.

No one understood.  No one cared.  The tangle

Of traffic, the snarl of pedagogy, and kids reacted

In obscene adult rage.  Yet neither chaos

Ensued nor anarchy broke out in places

You would most expect, where snakes snuggle

Up to elephants or in kindergarten fortresses

Constructed out of Lincoln Logs. Happy faces

Lapsed into growling masks, and thus all traces

Of reason disappeared, like puppy faeces

After a lovely summer’s rain, without a struggle.