what i was going to do yesterday was write about politics. but i got waylaid in the technicalities of the new site and the worry about whether anyone will ever get from the old site to the new. Okay, that was only part of it. there was a furtive visit with my son, a zoom introducing my brother to his first cousin (which was like connecting two conch shells – linguistically and ideologically), exercise, cook, eat, walk the cat (she now goes everywhere with us within our 1000 meter limit), argue with Ezi about why I hoard food, and watch Trump’s temperature.  

oh, yes, and i fixed – temporarily – the poem over the toilet: the point is if you’re reading the poem or looking at the picture you’re not going to aim properly, and then i’ll have a mess to clean up.

but then in the evening we went out for a walk, and, as usual, we met a poet neighbor by chance.  and Seymour Mayne – who knows all my secrets – wrote from Ottawa:

LOCKDOWN IN RAMAT AVIV

for Karen

Poets in the night,

groping for words of forbidden

greetings in the park,

while at the edge 

where tropical trees 

hold up against summer drought,

the pestilence’s rising roar 

assaults, then infects the silence.

 —

tell me that isn’t a wow poem.