He once plastered walls,

                                      but now his nose

                                      is bolted to her shoulder.

                                      She doesn’t feel a thing.

                                      She thinks she sees her father

                                      in the sycamore tree

                                      and offers herself to be eaten,

                                      a brazen Jewish apple from Plonsk.

 

                                      The wad of twenties

                                      sloshing in her slipper

                                      makes her feel sexy.

                                      She winks at the man

                                      with the nose on her shoulder.

                                      He doesn’t want her.

                                      He makes a grab for her slipper.

                                      They roll around on the rug

                                       like in the old days.