Poems ✍️
Poems ✍️
30.09.2025
10
Fish Crier
I know a Jew fish crier down on Maxwell Street with a voice like a north wind
blowing over corn stubble in January.
He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing a joy identical with
that of Pavlowa dancing.
His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish, terribly glad that God
made fish, and customers to whom he may call his wares, from a pushcart.
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