Son of a Holocaust refugee, he inherited

a candy store in the Bronx where life

was still with people, as it had been

in the old country.

He spent days counting pennies,

until a gay nephew died of AIDS,

and left him millions of dollars.

He tried to buy a Park Avenue coop.

When asked for his religion by the Board,

he swaggered like a self-important Wasp,

and replied: ā€œIā€™m a goy.ā€

Back in the Bronx, he never understood

why he was rejected, and lived the rest

of his days in a penthouse apartment

on the Grand Concourse.

Saluted by the doorman every time he entered

the marble lobby, he found it hard to believe

this was happening to him.