After months abroad,
I strolled down to Basel Square
and the store run
by the grocer from Wadi Ara.
That same smile
on the devastated face
flickered at the edge
of a shopkeeper’s mouth,
or a barber’s,
along Alexanderplatz
during the thirties.
With a feeble grip like this
they shook the hands
of clients,
members of the master race,
who deigned to drop in.
And this is what drives
the sleep from my eyes
and forces me
to rise and go back to the table
in this dim hour
when the thud of the paper
hitting the doorstep is heard.
~ from World Beat (New Directions, 2006)
