He offers what I can’t: the catalogue.
You want the marble finish or rose quartz?
With German tiles? The weiss? You choose the schwartz.
He’ll buy whatever Howard’s Storage has to flog:
he has a visa for the promised land,
and you have what he looks for in return:
a body for his bed, a womb to fill,
a woman smart enough to fit the bill
to match the income he had better earn
to keep it heymishlekhe as you planned.
You’re glossy paper printing. You’re a steal
at twice the price. You’re hurry can’t last long.
You’re kids eat free with every adult meal.
You’re catalogue: you know where you belong.