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.