The Photograph
Zelda Pratelbaum was a hoot
a jeweler's touch with blintzes
a bad wig a dead husband
"the looks of a movie goy,
great humor, laughed, you don't
know"
always holding my forearm
not afraid to remind me of
sex
showing me photos of herself
naked
from albums stacked on a
gilded coffee table
David Pratelbaum Photographer
stuck under yellowed scotch tape
I made repairs
She paid me in blintzes
I protested
She paid me in blintzes
I protested
Our freezer full of
white boxes of blintzes
Above Mrs. Pratelbaum's sofa
were photographs
lots of photographs
city winter scenes
a cocktail party
a black and white giraffe
just one that looked like
a shot of relatives
The photographer
not David Pratelbaum
old scratched worn
I asked if they were Relatives
she showed me more
naked pictures
Laughing
we ignored
A family standing
under a fruit tree
lawn and stone home
falling behind
all holding suitcases
No one looks into the
camera