You do not do, you do not do



Any more, black shoe



In which I have lived like a foot



For thirty years, poor and white,



Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.







Daddy, I have had to kill you.



You died before I had time——



Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,



Ghastly statue with one gray toe



Big as a Frisco seal







And a head in the freakish Atlantic



Where it pours bean green over blue



In the waters off beautiful Nauset.



I used to pray to recover you.



Ach, du.







In the German tongue, in the Polish town



Scraped flat by the roller



Of wars, wars, wars.



But the name of the town is common.



My Polack friend







Says there are a dozen or two.



So I never could tell where you



Put your foot, your root,



I never could talk to you.



The tongue stuck in my jaw.







It stuck in a barb wire snare.



Ich, ich, ich, ich,



I could hardly speak.



I thought every German was you.



And the language obscene







An engine, an engine



Chuffing me off like a Jew.



A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.



I began to talk like a Jew.



I think I may well be a Jew.







The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna



Are not very pure or true.



With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck



And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack



I may be a bit of a Jew.







I have always been scared of you,



With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.



And your neat mustache



And your Aryan eye, bright blue.



Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——







Not God but a swastika



So black no sky could squeak through.



Every woman adores a Fascist,



The boot in the face, the brute



Brute heart of a brute like you.







You stand at the blackboard, daddy,



In the picture I have of you,



A cleft in your chin instead of your foot



But no less a devil for that, no not



Any less the black man who







Bit my pretty red heart in two.



I was ten when they buried you.



At twenty I tried to die



And get back, back, back to you.



I thought even the bones would do.







But they pulled me out of the sack,



And they stuck me together with glue.



And then I knew what to do.



I made a model of you,



A man in black with a Meinkampf look







And a love of the rack and the screw.



And I said I do, I do.



So daddy, I’m finally through.



The black telephone’s off at the root,



The voices just can’t worm through.







If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——



The vampire who said he was you



And drank my blood for a year,



Seven years, if you want to know.



Daddy, you can lie back now.







There’s a stake in your fat black heart



And the villagers never liked you.



They are dancing and stamping on you.



They always knew it was you.



Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.





