Alpha 151



Alpha 151

In the doll house –
Alpha 151 –
the old man lifts
a balcony door frame
as his wife lends a needed
Four Orthodox Jews walk by:
Boy swaddled in navy suit,
head crowned by a kippah;
two women, heads wrapped
in black sheitels,
accompanied by a patriarch
hobbling stiffly on crutches,
tzitzit reaching from waist to knees.
Back at Alpha 151,
the old man twists a screw in place,
arms jerked up like a desert father
calling for validation
of his pious existence,
cloud-white hair and beard
threatening to flee his face.
He departs; his wife approaches,
wiping clean the open doors, perhaps
recalling family holidays
now faded into the periphery of age.
The old man returns,
the couple works,
disputing dimensions
as another wise relic
of bygone days
paces past –
the tabernacle




‘‘Age is graceful dying.’’


We all fear the changing years.

When wrinkles make facial fault lines

and sudden pains become our greatest fears

with dreams we weren’t able to find.

So we so filled with deep-seated dread

fly away to yesterday

from the realm of walking dead

to where we hope our bodies will stay,

its  energy, its life to us will be fed

and the cock’s final crow will be kept at bay.

Yet, searching for exhausted youth

 will bear not joyous

but the tragic truth

that age be all-consuming and all-embracing