You never told me about Sacco and Vanzetti, Mother.
We are their champions, though they looked guilty,
at least we are more than any Jewish-Russian beatnik.
And Father, well, he always said it just takes a little
common sense, as if there were a collective answer that defined
the practicality of all action (nevermind those wild orchids).
La via vecchia, the old ways, laid beside me last night,
telling me of things to fear: “You always loved me.”
Non si sorprenda.