The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

the weeds have choked the life from this town

Cappelbaum stares out at the horizon
criscrossed by railroad tracks
dotted by brothels

the town turns away its pockfaced countenance
and Cappelbaum begins his work

first things first  he grabs by the scalp his iewish roots  and yanks
barookh ata adonai eloheinu melekh ha—

next  with a swift motion
he runs the Rasenmäher over the lawn
mowing down time past and time present

a dog comes running with good news in her teeth
Cappelbaum pays no heed

he fills bag after bag with moist earth
letting the blades of grass stand
then  on the blades he places his weight

what does the grass tell him

it pricks Cappelbaum's face
but he does not bleed

it tickles his pits
but he does not laugh

a century past
somewhere at the lake of the deer
Cappelbaum's wife dances in an oracular daze

jumps over a bonfire

back in this town the lilies grow
in droves behind the house

"i think I'll mow them down  announces Cappelbaum
he puts on his gardening gloves
stained by the bark of trees

the sky says nothing