Anon. Smith, Esq.

Decalcomania by René Magritte

Anon. Smith, Esq.

Have you heard about Christian Jewson ?
Lived and died most ordinary
In his flat not far from Euston,
’Cept for his obituary.
Seems that none who knew him, knew:
Was he a Christian or was he a Jew ?

Now our Chris was blond by nature,
Yet his eyes were very dark.
No pork, said his legislature,
Cos he lived that vegan lark.
Was he church or temple sworn ?
Was he of Hebrews or Gentiles born ?

Couldn’t be from both descended,
Thoroughbred, he said, his folk:
Shem or Japheth; never blended –
No mulatto, him, he’d joke.
But beneath these joshing jibes,
Was he the Goyim or was he the Tribes ?

Why keep such parental myst’ry ?
Was shame undersigning doubt ?
Did he even know of his hist’ry ?
Was he scared of finding out ?
Was it glamour, cheap mystique –
Second-hand exotic with a tuppenny chic ?

Chris, I think, was far less caring,
Never much the man of faith.
When he died, his prayers were sparing;
So which heaven holds his wraith ?
Can God even not define
Was he of Semite or Aryan line ?

Now these questions may seem suspect,
Matter none save Chris alone;
Smacks of fear and disrespect
When he has nothing to atone.
Yet still I ask, a son’s remorse:
I’d take either gladly, just give me a source.

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