The shock of her spittle
splattering my face
sits with me still.

We four were long friends
who had enjoyed many a meal
of chatting and reminiscing,
but on that warm night waiting
outside the busy ice cream kiosk
for the summoned taxi
they both started in on Gaza,

the one strident, the other supportive,
our views condemned as misguided,
our facts dismissed as fake news
disseminated by Zionist stooges,
recorded history brushed aside,
the 1947 UN Resolution proof
of the global Jewish conspiracy,

the diatribe rising to an in-my-face
spittle-flecked shout saluting
the coming day when all Israel
would be no more,
and every Jew dead.

Before I could wipe my face
our taxi drew up and we fled
the hatred, the distorting rage,
knowing without words
there could be no way back.

Anthony Wade, a Forward Prize nominee, has published poetry in Ireland, across Britain, in India, Spain, the USA, and Canada. London-born Irish, he graduated and trained as a lawyer in England before working for decades in The Netherlands. He lives by the sea in his Mother’s old county of Cork, Ireland, close to where he spent childhood summers, and is an active member of a local writers’ group.