When I was three,
our neighbour Sarah
asked my friend Amos and me
to help her find the key
she’d lost in the yard.
A quarter was promised to the finder.
Amos went to the rear.
I saw him by the tin garbage cans
where we sword-played
the other day.
I remained in the front,
searching by the fence,
then along the path.
There it was, right in front of me:
shiny brass,
waiting.
Sarah kept her word,
awarded me a quarter.
But gave two quarters
to Amos.
“Because this is Amos,” she said,
looking me in the eye.
My first encounter
with Management.
(Editor’s note: poet Shai Ben-Shalom, an Israeli-born biologist, examines current events in the Blacklock’s tradition each and every Sunday)
