Oh, nose of noses
my sniffly snout
my beaky protuberant
proud and exuberant
erect like a tower of Lebanon
the upper of two peckers
the amour of Linda’s lip.
I’ve followed thee sniffing
through bush and roses
unable to see past thy tip
unless my eyes were crossed
blindly getting lost
like a Hebrew trailing Moses.
When I was young I wished for another
less Jewish, less out of joint, less like a hose
I snubbed you, I know, to my everlasting shame,
turned you up at not being aquiline
at being too much like Cyrano’s shnoze.
Once I even imagined, as in Gogol’s tale
waking one morning to find you gone.
It was a nose job I did on myself
looking down you to spite my face
and all the while missing the point
of how well you fit, how full of grace
you were, how fine ––
the only nose that’d ever be mine.