All That’s Solid Melts into Air

by Phyllis Kriegel

And my salad days
When I was green in judgement
Have wilted, archived beside
Gentlemen callers, weekend lovers,
Blind date losers, elusive boozers.
No matter.  Franz Kafka, my latest
Dream mate, has come to roost.
And when he agonizes and
Fletcherizes and exercises
I tenderly sing a Yiddish lullaby.
Phyllis Kriegel
Dallied with Dante
Played at Proust
Cuddled with Kafka
Then it hit me:
Stories happen to those
Who write them.