Yitzhak was my first boss.
He let me sleep in the 27th Street loft
where our office was until I found
an apartment and he gave me
his dead aunt’s lamp. I still have
her lamp. Saw Yitzhak and his wife
at a book party. It’s been
years. Your poems he began I told you this
years ago. Your poems aren’t
political enough. Look at the world
and look at your poems. That’s all
you have to do. Poems don’t have
to be anything I said, what I told him
in 1974. That’s where you’re wrong Yitzhak
laughed. I see you haven’t changed.