It is almost time for "The Festival of Lights."
Candled tables filled with food and fortified wine
and long-stare intense debates about Bibi's rights
between old friends become foes but friends again by nine.
And the latke is scrumptious -- apple sauce and cream!
But keep fat f*ck away from the sufganyas. Oy!
Scarfing, such noises. What would Freud make of his dream?
Uncle Varnya, I go. Doesn't look up. Oh boy.
Is cat Is bag Is out. Guess who's coming to dinner?
Silence like lambs. Even The Fat One drops his spoon.
Their looks -- what!? -- I'm a schlemiel, a subversive sinner.
Hats are grabbed. Remembered appointments on the moon.
Mohammed and I have a long conversation
over potato salad about Creation.
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L'Chaim! I raise a glass, all muscle tough.
And Inshallah, he goes, guzzling down my Manischewitz like there's no tomorrow.
