Actor, knows his lines,
steps into his times,
improvises on cue, Jew.
“I don’t need a ride. I need ammunition.”

Ukraine, birthplace of the Bal Shem Tov (“Master of the Good Name”)
— source stream of joyous Hasidism —
born near where my parents fled from Russian troops
earth-scorchers, village-burners, WW I

World War II, London, I,I,I survived the Nazi blitz:
sirens, buzzbombs, ack-ack of anti-aircraft,
sleeping in the Underground,

Putin sends young men out to die. Better than monkey glands.
Liar Liar Liar Putain Pizda

Fiery eyes, one yellow, one blue.

A power plant missile-struck, black plume of smoke, obscuring the morning star.
Red-flamed sky, crizzled glass, spattered concrete, red stains in the sunset.

I rise, meditate, make coffee, check emails, check news, shit, shower, shave,
watch TV on the hour, CNN.

Another day gone.

Norbert Hirschhorn is a public health physician, proud to follow in the tradition of physician-poets. Hirschhorn has published six collections, the most recent a bilingual Arabic-English co-translation with Syrian physician-poet Fouad M. Fouad, Once Upon a Time in Aleppo. See his website,