Josh Lefkowitz

February 15, 2021

“Next in Line” by Josh LefkowitzPosted by

Josh Lefkowitz

NEXT IN LINE

Ten minutes now he’s been talking to her, 
the pretty bank clerk with rouge-y cheeks. 
As far as I can tell the monetary transaction’s done, 
while this other one is only beginning. 

I am behind him in line, seventeen 
and learning. 
I’ve never seen an attempted courtship before. 

He wants her to come with him 
to a concert this weekend. She demurs, 
pretending to flip through deposit slips. 
He’s respectful enough, but not yet giving up. 
Inside him, empathy and instinct are waging their war. 

And now I can see it’s not rouge at all, but blushing, 
embarrassed for both of them. She came to work today, 
with a job to do and a salary to earn. 

This isn’t some singles bar. This is a bank 
inside of a grocery store. She’s here to help cash checks, 
not fend off the carnal longings of customers. 

Everything that happens next for me, 
by which I mean the decades and lives I’ll live, 
can be traced to this moment: 

when the man acquiesces, though not without leaving
his card behind, I take his place 
at the counter, and, like a toddler absorbing a native language, 
proceed to parrot behavior taught by example. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” I say, for reasons 
I don’t even know—I’m just trying it on, this new role—
as the woman, eyes down, sighs and shakes her head,
history rolling forward, a war with no end in sight.

—from Rattle #70, Winter 2020

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Josh Lefkowitz: “The two poems in this issue were both written care of the New York Mills Regional Cultural Center in New York Mills, Minnesota. It’s a town of approximately 1,200 people, which also happens to have this incredible arts center, complete with a visiting artist residency. I spent two of the best weeks of my life there—alone, lost in my work. The town has a diner, a library, and a BBQ restaurant. What more do you need?” (web)

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February 12, 2021

“Graffiti” by Josh LefkowitzPosted by

Josh Lefkowitz

GRAFFITI

35,400 years ago, in a cave on Sulawesi—
fourth-largest Indonesian island—
someone painted a pig on the wall. 

It’s been with us since the beginning—
This impulse to create, to say: 
We lived; we observed along the way. 

They probably ate the pig, too. 
History’s first Instagram post! 
Look at this thing I’m about to eat! 

All this was on my mind last night, 
standing at a urinal in a VFW hall, 
in a town—and a life—I’m just passing through. 

Someone had marked these walls as well, 
a celebration of the human spirit: 
“Titty,” it said. And then “Skunk.”
 
Constantly seeking connections and patterns, 
I bounced the nouns like blue rubber balls 
in the handball court inside my skull. 

Well, both excrete, albeit one to nourish, 
one to defend. And in this spirit of defense 
I returned to the place where I was. 

Perhaps the words were a veteran’s reminder 
of honorable service. In a sea of softness, 
someone needs to protect the burrow. 

Although—thanks to curiosity, and the internet—
I’m learning that skunks can be domesticated as pets, 
while we all know an innocent titty might harbor Stage 4.
 
But this is nonsense—an attempt to find meaning 
in a world bred and fueled by chaos. I zipped up, claimed my spot 
at the bar, and continued to not ask any probing questions
 
of the man to my left, who, I’d been informed, 
had served as a Vietnam medic, and fifty years later 
still wore the war. He, more than me or most, 

must understand the utter ridiculousness of this 
whole human experiment, a riddle best left raveled.
There is no adequate explanation—

Why the bullets or cancers found homes in our friends 
and not us. Why we are here while others are not. 
Thoughts without answers, 35,400 years old and counting. 

All we can do is graffiti our luck we’re alive. 
We paint pigs on walls to remind us. We pray. 
We say “Grace.” We say “Titty.” We say “Skunk.”

—from Rattle #70, Winter 2020

__________

Josh Lefkowitz: “The two poems in this issue were both written care of the New York Mills Regional Cultural Center in New York Mills, Minnesota. It’s a town of approximately 1,200 people, which also happens to have this incredible arts center, complete with a visiting artist residency. I spent two of the best weeks of my life there—alone, lost in my work. The town has a diner, a library, and a BBQ restaurant. What more do you need?” (web)

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