The Lost Son Poem by Elisha Porat


translated from Hebrew by Asher Harris

He came back, but he came like a stranger.
He came back, looked about and did not
Recall, for to him, all appeared estranged:
The house, the yard, the narrow lane.
Their memory sliced through his heart,
Cut, and he who survived and was favoured
Came back; and he who had sworn back there
That nothing would be forget, estranged though it be:
A dirt path, and the barren field and the ditch
At the edge, and the lemon tree with its bitter fruit.
He felt that his absence was almost ordained:
To come back at last, to come like a stranger
With a shadowy memory that was not estranged,
And an unravelled thread of burning desire
That will never more be made whole.

In a Perfect World Poem by Thomas Kellar


In a perfect world”¦

The 4 faces chiseled in Mt. Rushmore

would be Johnny, Kris, Waylon, and Willie

OJ Simpson would be stamping out vanity plates

alongside the unabomber in San Quentin.

every wanna-be Doctor, Priest, and Lawyer, made to watch

Paul Newman in “The Verdict” at least 50 times

and a public school education would include mining the mother lode

of irony found in the life and times of Muhammad Ali

In a perfect world”¦

the Government would find it unnecessary to spend 5o million bucks

trying to prove that the president committed adultery and lied about it.

the NRA would wither up and die due to lack of interest,

It”s army of Lobbyist picked off one by one through random gunfire.

all the camouflaged, soldier of misfortune, pin-headed, good ol” boys

would collectively decide themselves not smart enough to exercise the

right to vote.

And every child would know deep and sustaining Love

from those in charge of their care.

In a perfect world”¦

I could lay all day on the beach

soaking up Pacific Ocean Sun without burning my ass off.

my 1970, Olds F-85, with the 396, would get better gas mileage the

faster I drove it.

like maybe 100 miles per gallon at 100 miles per hour.

there would fantastic, hole in the wall, Mexican food joints on every

street corner.

with plenty of fresh Tortillas, Habeneros, and ice cold Negra Modelo

and “Baby Doll” with the wandering eye, would magically see George


every time she looked my way, causing her to re-think monogamy.