Good Night

As strong as cold, on earth the only men,

Wiesel dies eighty-seven in New York.

The terrorists are up to tricks again:

Orlando, Kiryat Arba, Atatürk

And twenty in a Bangladesh café

All hacked to bits while they were drinking tea,

But no one cares—they’re brown and far away­

And Trump is shouting something on TV.

Wiesel said peace could happen in his life—

At least that it could happen within mine.

Tell that to human blood upon a knife

In Ramadan, this holiest of times.

Baruch dayan ha’emet, wise old man,

And may your words come true; I doubt they can.