Sunday Poem

Mr. Love

—for my grandmother Miss Resnikoff

You see, she explained, what is now
called Love, was once named Zaslovsky.

He lived over the delicatessen
talked Yiddish in his hoarse voice,
(the vocal cords strained from all
those years of singing)

argued some about politics, got
melancholy and often put the grand-

children to bed telling Russian stories.
He loved to play pinochle
and never really gave up
his ideas.

But now, she explained, what
has taken the name of Love

fixes prescriptions, lives in
a perfect little neighborhood

and has plenty
of acquaintances.

by Lou Lipsitz
from Seeking the Hook
Signal Books, 1997