Wise Wednesday
Wise Wednesday
A Poem
Phil’s Delicatessen
The aroma of pickles,
smoked fish, coffee, fresh bread
and salami filled me with
peace and anticipation.
I reached up
held my father’s hand
inhaled.
I was where I belonged.
We went to Phil’s
on South Street
every Sunday morning
for lox and bagles
Then to Danziger’s
for bobbca and sweet roles.
Mom had the onions and
tomatoes sliced and waiting.
My two younger brothers
came to the kitchen and sat
when they heard me and dad come in.
Phil was a Holocaust survivor.
He had a number tattooed on his arm.
I think of Phil, his deli and how I felt
then, now as I read Trump wants to
designate Jews, not as a religion,
but as a race, like the Nazis did.
Trump says to fight anti-semitism.
But perhaps it’s also the first
step in the round-up and extermination.
