Friday night. Strada Romana
Dreamy Jews emerge from the baths,
the siren of sabbath is shrieking,
how shiny, oh Domne, thine shekels —
for mother, for bride, for the auto!
Lord (the moon a sharp sliver over
each head), lead us home! (With shekels,
away from this blue halva.) Quiet and
swift like a rabbit the earth
overtakes the meridians. Cans full of beer. Only Romanians
here. The underground ready for war.
Translated by Ieva Lesinska