POCKETBOOKS (poem)

POCKETBOOKS

Back around 1928 when everyone wore hats

and women carried pocketbooks,

genuine alligator bags with gold clasps

big enough to hold lipsticks, powder

puffs and rouge, a stash of nickels for the subway,

perhaps even Lucky Strikes in jeweled cases,

Back around 1928 my grandma Annie

got her first silver fox shawl

with real fox-heads and paws at each end.

Rich cousin Bessie Shlansky

had a full-length sheared mink coat

and the upstairs neighbor wore beaver

with a matching hat, Rose from Albemarle Road

owned  Persian lamb plus a

leopard coat with a tam, what a zoo

when they  paraded together on Ocean Parkway

for the High Holidays.

Though hers was not a coat,

Annie  was proud at last to own fur

only a couple of decades after Ellis Island.

I don’t begrudge them their happiness

despite the flaunting of animal skins

back when Green referred to Greenhorns, the latest

immigrants, those  lucky enough to get through

before the gates of America shut

And poverty was just around the corner

the clouds in the Old Country

already tinged black.

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