Mail-day, and over the world in a thousand drag-nets …
Karl Shapiro
As a sloop with a sweep of immaculate wing on her delicate spine …
Your landscape sickens with a dry disease …
I am an atheist who says his prayers. …
Two hands lie still, the hairy and the white, …
The bugle sounds the measured call to prayers, …
The letters of the Jews as strict as flames …
The gates clanged and they walked you into jail …
With focus sharp as Flemish-painted face …
O hideous little bat, the size of snot, …
The man behind the book may not be man, …
It stops the town we come through. Workers raise …
To hurt the Negro and avoid the Jew …