A Happy Coviday
Today is my birthday,
the worst one of my life,
I’m stretched out in the hospital,
At home is my wife.
But this is how I see it,
As I write this little verse:
According to the health staff here
It could have been much ”verse”!
I’m not sure how the food is,
As I’ve only partial taste.
But I might be the lucky one
From what I heard it’s paste.
The only things that taste good
Are pre-packaged dreams of white,
The Dixie cups of ice cream,
And vanilla, my pudding delight.
Oh, by the way my roommate
(As happens oft to me), is
a gentleman whose family
I’ve known since ’72 (or ‘73)
He heard someone refer to me
as “Rabbi,” so he asked,
“Which one are you, which
Schul is yours?”
(I never knew I owned one)
I told him and we got to talk-
Well, he did- and I learned
Things that were new
(though most were not) ‘bout past
And those who “passed”
A whole bunch I had in “my”
schul (a term I don’t prefer)
Their relatives in other ones
(But “mine” got all the slurs!)
That’s been a burden that I’ve
Had these almost fifty years
But it’s not something that I’d change,
The community’s laughs and tears.
Hey, I must be feeling better,
This saga I must end,
Or it’ll take me to the 4th
(Or even 75th!!!)
But, what the heck since what that means:
I’m kicking’, still alive!
Hospital nights suck
But I woke to the sun
And no one will say
His d.o.b. and d.o.d. are one!