Little Polish Girl
I turn the pages of my book
with its black and white
Bible scenes. On us
and our children!
Skinny legs dangling
down his chest,
grubby hands holding on
to his temples,
that little girl astride
her father’s shoulders
can see everything.
Privileged, like Ellen
in my class, the daughter
of our dentist
who said it wouldn’t hurt.
I’m glad
it’s not my fault,
the crucifixion.
How good it feels
to blame somebody else.
