My Father Was An Anti-Fascist.

My father was an Anti-Fascist,

A child of immigrants

who worshipped free elections,

And not some flaccid erections of impotent potentates,

Who pump themselves up

On the deaths of humans and institutions great,

Unlike themselves.

My father curses you from his grave,

You greasy garbage-pail, depraved

Beyond redemption, not to mention how

Deprived you are of any shards of soul,

You democracy desecrating asshole, Trump.

My father didn’t want to leave three kids

But yet he did, to fight the Fascists and keep

Us safe from hate-filled autocrats, intent

On killing mothers & babies, and tearing them apart.

My wife’s uncle, at 20, had reasons plenty to stay home

And not run off to Rome, to spend his youth fighting Nazis

So uncouth they pissed on Jewish graves, including his own,

Dug deep into Europe’s hills, before The War was won.

And now, you whine, you Fascist-loving garbage pail,

Face so callow and puffy, skin so pale, voice a callous peale,

To tear down the democratic fortress their blood sealed,

Defeating & containing dictators for 75 years–your lifetime–

You chin-thrusting shill for Russian mobsters, you pig squeal.

My father and his fellow GI’s curse you from their graves,

You draft dodging, Gold-Star Family fucking inanity,

Depraved more than the jackals

Who feasted on the entrails of dead soldiers and civilians,

Growing fat, feasting on the flesh of humans,

In the crassness and crapulence of your full inhumanity.

The soldiers of democracy’s fortune, from here and abroad,

Curse you from their graves, you fraud, knowing the courage of their brave

Friends who, of all colors and faiths, came together for a cause,

Not simply for applause, nor profit, but to save the world,

From avaricious, hate-dripping, autocratic, garbage pails like you.

My father was an Anti-Fascist,

As were 300,000 fellow US Vets who perished,

And 700,000 more who bore bullets in their spines & rumps,

Fighting to save Democracy from the soul-less, like Trump.

World Without Hate, Amein.

The New York Times front page, May 28, 2021.

World Without Hate,  Amein.

My oldest granddaughter turned 12 today.

I’m grateful for her life each day, 

That I can watch her and her sisters smile,

And know, that all the while, so many other

Children of us all are gone.

Like the Ishkontana children,

Ages 9, 5, 4 and 2

Wearing bright new clothes and shoes,

Smiling, while their uncle snapped photos on his phone.

When he stepped out to buy them treats,

 Their Gaza home was bombed into the streets, 

With all the Ishkontana children and their mother,

Dressed in their Ramadan best,

 Scattered, as dust in the wind.

I live to hear my granddaughters laugh, 

And marvel at how well they swim, 

And flip and dive, 

So thankful they are still alive, 

While worlds away, 69 children die,

For being plunged in hate’s way.

Like Ido Avigal, Age 5, A Jew,

Who told his classmates 
“Arabs are not all bad,”

And before he was old enough to work for peace,

Took shrapnel in his stomach.   Deceased.

Like Rafeef Abu Dayer, age 10,

Who drew a bombed out Gaza building she could not unsee,

And, hearing her mother’s call for a garden lunch and tea, 

Put her artwork aside to color later.  Which would never be.

I kiss my granddaughters, Ages 12, almost 10 and 5,

And know that despite fires, and COVID, guns and drought,

They are blessed to be able to go out,

And run and play and shout screams of joy to be alive.  

Not terror, as a child psychologist told the NY Times:

“Of the ones who survive; those pulled out of the rubble,

And lost a limb, or those who will go to school,

And see which friend is missing.”

My oldest granddaughter turned 12 today,

And all I want for her, 


For the inhumanity of this world to go away.