IT MATTERS

It matters

which side of the street

I walk on to get home.

There is their side,

and the safe side,

the only side that gets me home

the same way my mother sent me out.

It matters

that my eyes are watching,

scanning the neighborhood for

thirsty Polish boys,

who drink Jews like water,

wanting

to pound me like schnitzel.

It matters

that I have learned the politics

of life.

Know enough to find two Goliaths

to protect me.

My contribution:

homework assignments worthy of a good grade.

My teacher gives us an exercise.

“Write something that has meaning.

Use your shovel.

Dig deep.”

I want to say something important.

Something that will last.

Something that says I was here.

I write my name.

Moishe Moskowitz.

I matter.