H’America: Poem by Miriam Sagan

in the Alibaba
gyros joint
in the Tulsa, Oklahoma
strip mall
we’re all
watching Manchester
play soccer
in Spanish
in the rain, and wondering
about some private concerns
that can’t be seen
even by the waitress
with her suddenly
beautiful smile

“It’s H’America,”my dad used to say
making his fake Yiddish joke
self-deprecating, as is the custom
of the Russian Jews everywhere,
we who can’t really
forget or forgive
our pasts
or even
properly remember.