The Art of

33
I’m half Russian serf
half kike aristocrat;
the Russian serf burps
and hides, confused,
his pot belly, his pimple-scarred cheeks,
his snow-white beard
in the crow’s nest of black facial hair
that marks the aristocrat.
He smiles with pity
into the Christ-beard:
what happened
to that guy?
BORIS LURIE, DECEMBER 30, 1990
Germany!
lies buried in the flesh
close to
my heart
– the evacuated graves there are
– two ladies-fingers, red-nail polished
Thus my heart, beating
itself on the kitchen
chopping block,
will always reek of
Deutschland
– it calls me to judgment before the cooks
– and into the pot pie.
BORIS LURIE, JANUARY 11, 1991