I love this poem, which appears in Blat Oyf an Eplboym (Leaf on an Apple Tree, 1955) and also in an abridged translation in the Harshavs’ big book of American Yiddish Poetry. Perhaps connected to Leivick’s own trip to Mexico in the forties, or his other journeys around South America, but there’s no specific date or place given.
"Even a man would be no wiser"
What else is there to say?