Poetry won’t pay your bills

I received the questionnaire that will be used as an interview

for the ‘Israel Hayom’ newspaper in exactly

my favorite font, this should not be treated rhetorically

it’s not a minor detail to give me a pleasant welcome

in the ‘Times New Roman’ writing style with my favorite letter size with

the diacritic signs that for me

are no more than pleasant adornments. It is beyond me how they have a punctuation role in the Academy of the Hebrew Language instructions beyond

their graphic form, but they refer only to the Hebrew alphabet at this noontime

in which –

I also received the two “poetry cycles” by David Yellin in the mail in a stiff paper envelope resistant to the driving rain at the end the heat wave

of the High Holidays

with a letter in its body

thanking me for my winning one of the first places in

World Poetry Day.

I’d

never won anything for my poetry until

this afternoon that proved

that there are gestures of this kind that still

take place between

a man and his neighbor – this afternoon –

in which

A photographer named Joseph corresponded with me, saying:

“Your character reminds me of Frida Kahlo I’m

probably not the first one to tell you this,” I would expect him to tell me something new and it’s not corny to ask for it as befitting a stranger who brings different tidings;

I expected

that as a photographer documenting abandoned and untreated feral cats for a long time and abandoned buildings that were postponed for a later date – in which a human hand would compensate them one day, he would not be fooled by the populist gimmick that became

Frida Kahlo today; he

claimed to have a female photographer colleague who would love to photograph me, this afternoon – in which

Suddenly it all depends on the next day whether the monthly rental

check will be cashed or returned to its owner

without

milk in the fridge I start to think that my

output this afternoon is

poor with

the last few sips from the coffee

and moments of smoking cigarette butts until the phone is

slammed by the bank manager that

I just wanted to tell him that I wrote a beautiful poem –

this afternoon.

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