|
|
In Bronx,
in highrise Home for
Hebrew Aged,
fading Jewish garment workers
sit,
and melt senselessly into old age,
sit
and rust and fall
into frail and delicate heaps
of Jewish wreckage.
On color-coordinated wards
they sit--
retired now from sweat of pressing irons
(all rooms air-conditioned)
retired from pierced fingers of sewing machines
(no needles used for therapy pot holders)
retired forever from gnarled hands of cutting table
(cushioned now by foam pads of wheel chair)
They sit
in the picket line of their memories
confused
tired
useless
screaming Yiddish epithets to
porcelain walls and Jamaican nurses.
In highrise home for
Hebrew aged
old Jewish garment workers
sit,
wrapped in blankets,
soaking in urine,
silently planning
their last general strike.
1980