POEM XI: “THE PLAN”

Every Jew I know has one
For when They come back, I mean;

A wall that’s wide enough
A room not evident from outside the house
A friend who can be counted on
A passport in a box.

The plan is what we come up with
when the nightmares start
usually around age nine or ten.

In mine, they were chasing me
through a Burger King playground.

They had to hunch to fit inside the tunnels
and I could stand up straight and run,

but they had history on their side,
and the plastic warren shook
with every one of their dogged, imperturbable footsteps.

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