(Brooklyn 1948)

My father was a tough guy
devolved from Dutch bureaucrats
a generation too late for money,
in debt to my rabbi grandfather
he had no control of his own family

Half of me is gay.
When i was a kid I didn’t know
what I was,
i was never a sissy
and never a bully.
My father tried to sniff me out,
it puzzled him 
that i was something in between

When I was ten
boys from the Jewish school
played in a park on Greenpoint Avenue
that had a huge tree,
it didn’t bother me climbing 
up to the top branch
to show off to the other boys

That’s when I learned
about the fear of heights
I was frozen
going down impossible,
the boys jeered at me,
after a couple of hours
one ran to my house 

When my father came,
he stood beneath looking up,
laughing so hard
he had to hold his sides.
He shouted 
I finally know who you are
you’re the boy who coldn’t get down