Thursday, November 23, 2017

Emloyment History Of A Jew or Happy Thanksgiving

I had a job
prying gold teeth from corpses
I had a job
digging graves for thousands
I had a job cleaning shit from train cars
then one day they shot me
in the back of the head.
At least I had a job
until I was dead.
Now I'm with the living
don't know how it happened
these jobs vague memories
stuck in my DNA.
I have a job cleaning bathrooms
that aren't even dirty
I deliver flowers to lovers
I must have been promoted.
If death is fleeting
and so is life,
The soul must carry vast memory
images and odors
of many lives and deaths
the soul remembers and teases: how is it
that my fingers recall  piano keys, cymbals and flying drum sticks?
One more time I'll live again then move on to the next one
I have a job.  If I'm righteous, keep being promoted,
some day my job will be to care for memories
that connect up, that I can read
like the Book Of Judgement 
about which the Rabbis sing.

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