Roots

This squash is my good cousin,

says the vegetable man,

rolling his pushcart through November.

These parsnips are first class.

I recommend with my whole heart.

I know the family.

Believe me, lady, I know

what I’m talking.

And I give you a good price.

I throw in the carrots free.

Carrots like this you got?

So what you want?

I wrap in the best Yiddish newspaper.

A dollar a year. Takes me

ten minutes to read it,

an hour to read the English.

Potatoes you need, maybe?

My wife says I eat too many

potatoes. In Poland, in war,

we ate potatoes, soup,

baked, boiled.

All my family was ploughed under

except me. So what can I say

to someone that he don’t like

potatoes? Positively last chance,

because tomorrow it might snow.

In winter I don’t come.

Look for me when the snow goes,

and if I don’t come back,

think that I moved, maybe.

I’m eighty-two already,

and what is Paradise

without such potatoes?