Lot Sits at the Gates to the City

Something inside him has said
the deal will be made here today.
Back against the dusty wall,
he wears a checkered jacket
even in this heat, like an old school
American salesman down to
the Eisenhowereque flat top,
but then at least America
had something to sell.

He's a hustler, a go-along-
to-get-along, a war victim,
when his most honored uncle, said,
the good lands or the not
as good? He took what he wanted.
He lied for his uncle.

Tomorrow morning he'll be told
to leave, but he'll head back in
for the c.d.'s, the golf trophy.
He won't know what it means,
the empty seat in the Chevy.
His daughters will see.

Not once a year, but every week
the rabbis read this story.
They mean it as a warning.

Deborah Bacharach
The Cape Rock
Spring 2013