Cobbling Fish

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.

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