-Wisdom-

1.

Somebody told me Jews 

Like to drink

Manischewitz.

I know one Jew.

Joy Liebmann's desk was adjoining my desk

At the infamous grade school we both attended;

Her careful eyes wide-open to her books.
She was studious

And ignored me as she should have.

I'd drop pencils to the floor and then

Under the canopy of hard wood hinged in iron, 

I travelled northward from the tops of her brown & whites...

2.

I befriended Edward Meckelberg

At the face of harsh

Peer opposition in junior high school.

I know two Jews.

Edward was an outsider, socially funny-looking and brilliant.

Crazy Michael Joseph, the kid with two first names,

Informed me that Edward didn’t believe in the Virgin Mary,

Of whom it was drilled into me at Saturday catechisms,

Was the hand-picked mother-to-be of baby Jesus.

But it was Edward’s Mother who introduced me to Gelatin,

Which beforehand I had only known as JELLO.

3.

The Nazis (Let us all spit-up now) told us 

That Jews have long, convex noses,

Beady eyes and smirked hunched-over

Looking for cover 

As they counted their reichsmarks.

You've seen the illustrations. 

I know seven additional Jews. 

One has what seems to be a normal nose,

Dark-brown eyes, and works for tips as a waitress

At the Nite Owl Diner on Pleasant Street.

Of the other six, one has a nose like 

The Portuguese guy watering his lawn across the street.

Another has eyes for terra-cotta

And makes it into figures who nearly

Escape from their enclosures.  

Another is a bank teller. He counts money,

But it’s not his money.

Of the other three, one has a nose like Durante,

The "Schnozzola," substantial and crowd-pleasing.

His eyes seem normal enough.

The sixth of seven has one working eye,

A terrible accident, and I don't remember

Anything about his nose which is probably a good thing.

The seventh of seven slept late in the morning; 

Her eyes opened slowly like the lids of most treasure chests to sunlight

And of her nose, well, her nose was formed like that of the polished 

Marble-pink of the Renaissance Madonna long before

The mallet of Laszlo Toth struck. 

The Portuguese guy across the street

Would call it: “Belo.”

Me? I’d call it: “Jewish-Florentine.”