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Monday, April 10, 2017

Fresh Horseradish Root

On the train    I am      out of New York Times
articles, the news always runs out, doesn’t it?—
I infer from each headline we’re      up shitcreek,
an expression I have never         used,    Gorsuch
sworn in, Tillerson’s hard      Russia line,  Trump
reluctant to take on deductions— The         train
passes Wyandanch, the same town  a man   took
me to in the night, a poor           section of town
different name to divide wealth  /school districts
but he brought me to   Dix Hills— Can        you
imagine, Dix Hill is the rich one, a hill flickering
dicks— My phone     is   hot from sun         from
a podcast about a strikingly poorer     town,   shit
creek shit town—             I have dreams all night
of a monster    who can only find you    when you
hide— I think this ought to be how     knowledge
works, without which    you are fine, ocean acidity
you are fine    Arctic sea ice volume,       you are—
See we drive with both hands    on the wheel,  we
look for matzo meal, this place     hates Jews    we
laugh, the absence    a    hate crime, we    chuckle,
I get to see my nephew        I tell my dad I would
raise a kid on many language if the world weren’t
going to shit and he says     We have time but we
do don’t we— I tell him the Arctic sea wall   will
give out      as early as     this year,   I am a     bad
daughter, why he likes me why he         trusts me
to stick my hand deep in the            turkey cavity
when we both know I won’t       eat it—I’m more
control freak than moral     crusader,   my     poor
father wanted    a daughter    he got a    daughter
alright a crass    woman      doomsdaying into the
market    doomsdaying as she lifts       horseradish
root and says     you pick which, it’s your    assault
weapon— How to prepare the bitter herbs   from
scratch,    how bout that        we don’t even need a
metaphor, we spoon the metaphor right into   our

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