Craig Grossman - Fundraiser

As my children come home from school,
With catalogues tucked under their tiny arms
Full of cookies and candles to sell
To earn twenty cent prizes.
I’m reminded of that year in my youth,
all the orders of chocolates,
solid and filled,
marzipan and macaroons
that you sold—father
to the factory workers
on your delivery route in Queens.

The grand prize was a ten speed;
Handle bars wrapped with silver tape,
electric horn, speedometer,
Its shiny red frame glistened
In the spotlight of the Temples display case.
I wanted it so badly.

You sold all you could;
hundreds of orders.
I remember sorting
and packing all
the fancy boxes
for you to take
with you to work.

But, the bike went to the President of the Woman’s Clubs son.
I got the am-fm transistor radio
with the long silver antenna
and the small white earphone.

Other members got their family names
printed in the monthly newsletter
for not contributing enough
to the Temple’s building fund.

Now all these years later
the same Rabbi stands before us
as one by one
we throw shovels of sand
on your plain pine box.

Craig Grossman

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fundraiser/