Herb sent the pictures.
He was Herbie then.
Japan had not surrendered,
And TV was unheard of.
A skinny kid at a costume party.
His eyes bright.
Enjoying himself.
Looks to be about seven.
Can he imagine the journey?
All the anxiety,
People moving, changing.
When was it ever easy?
Fast answers covered his tracks.
In a world of sectarian Jews
A square mile was the universe,
On a planet with movies and trolleys.
Couldn’t figure what mattered.
Sixty five years later
He knows more words that say
Can’t figure what matters.
Could I sit with that seven year old
And agree on the absurdity
Of our costume parties?
Surely we would laugh.
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