When he turned seventy,
he thought he knew enough.
Well, as a gray beard he knew enough
to know everyone
sixty-nine and under
thought he didn’t know very much.
“Well,” he said, “So and so
and such and such
and dozy doats and
and what the heck
does all that
so and so and such and such
and dozy doats
mean?
I may not know enough
but I know enough
to know this Passover poem is more than
long enough.”
“Enough, already!
If we may say,”
his two seventy-five year
old Jewish mother neighbors
exclaimed, with a Passover
oy vey and another oy vey
and one said to the other,
“All right,
already, that’s enough
about the kids
already or to be consistent
with this goy’s
way-too-long poem,
that’s already enough.
Open the door, Richard,
and let in Elijah to have
the fifth
cup of the wine.
Four for us are just fine.
We’ve been saving it
a long, long time,
oh, boy, oh, boy.
But don’t worry.
Mogen David and
Manischewitz
last
a very long time
as very fine
kosher wine,
oy vey.”