b.z. niditch | kafka, Happy 130th


My birthday wish for you
Franz for another
a hundred and thirty years,
Uncle Alfred had a lovely
copy in German
of Metamorphosis
about a bug like vermin,
it was on the top shelf
near Dante
about the Ghibellines
and Guelfs,
in his loving library
where light betrays
even the easiest sun
at last hour
by the tiny doorway
a poet in kid gloves
would secretly read
and then write all night
his thoughts in a diary
a kept journal
full of tales
of Virgil and Lancelot
no one ever found it
nor got caught,
here was Dante’s
Divine Comedy
about the city of Dis,
no one could locate Kafka’s
lovely Metamorphosis.

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