Alan Harawitz The lox man is waitingbehind the counterin the back of the store,an anachronism under an ancientblue Dodger baseball cap,gray hair and goatee surroundinghis pudgy pink cheeks and flabby chin. It doesn’t hurt that his name is Nathanand that he speaks with the slightestJewish inflection when he says,“Hi, what can I get you?”It’s one …
Alan Harawitz – My Old Man
Alan Harawitz When my father picks up the violin,with its long neck and curved body,he holds it like a woman.His eyes close and his upper lip trembles slightly.His bow hand smooth across the strings.His fingers dance near the pegs.The sound is the sea or the sunor the tears of some long lost love.And he …
Alan Harawitz – Born Too Late
Alan Harawitz You could never be my girlfriend.I was only fourteenand you were a young woman,seventeen years old.But we were friends, maybe even more.You would sing "Born Too Late"over and over again as if it were a refrainand not just the title of a hit song by The Ponytails.I think you were flirting with …
