I’m sitting across the desk from
Dr. Yusef Ben Yakov
describing my dream about
murdering my brother.
He is wearing his alpaca cardigan
of many colors.
A photo of Portifar’s wife
inscribed sorry it didn’t work out
sits next to the Pharoah’s portrait.
A Cohiba lies on the onyx ashtray.
He picks it up and takes a puff.
Sibling rivalry he says
manifests itself in bizarre ways.
Take the time my brothers
tried to sell me down the river.
I’ve heard that story a thousand times
at the family seder
and he’s billing me by the hour
so I switch the subject to my dream of
seven fat women and seven lean ones
Feast or famine he tells me
life’s always like that.
As my blessed mother Rachel used to say
the first one hundred years
are the hardest.
I think our time is up.
(Originally published in Poetica Magazine)
See you again next week.