Onward Bound Humor

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Location: The City, On the edge

Monday, June 19, 2006

236. Jewish Haiku

After the warm rain
the sweet smell of camellias.
Did you wipe your feet?

Her lips near my ear,
Aunt Sadie whispers the name
of her friend's disease.

Today I am a man.
Tomorrow I will return
to the seventh grade.

Today, mild shvitzing.
Tomorrow, so hot you'll plotz.
Five-day forecast: feh!

Testing the warm milk
on her wrist, she sighs softly.
But her son's forty.

The sparkling blue sea
reminds me to wait an hour
after my sandwich.

Tea ceremony-
fragrant steam perfumes the air.
Try the cheese Danish.

Lacking fins or tail
the gefilte fish swims with
great difficulty.

My nature journal
today, I saw trees and birds.
I should know the names?

Like a bonsai tree,
your terrible posture at
my dinner table.

Beyond Valium,
the peace of knowing one's child
is an internist.

Jews on safari-
map, compass, elephant gun,
hard sucking candies.

Coroner's report --
"The deceased, wearing no hat,
caught his death of cold."

The same kimono
the top geishas are wearing:
I got at Loehmann's.

The sparrow brings home
too many worms for her young.
Force yourself," she chirps.

Jewish triathlon:
gin rummy, then contract bridge,
followed by a nap.

Can't you just leave it?"
the new Jewish mother asks -
umbilical cord.

The shivah visit:
so sorry about your loss.
Now to my problems.

Our youngest daughter,
our most precious jewel, hence
the name, Tiffany.

Mom, please! There is no
need to put that dinner roll
in your pocketbook.

Seven-foot Jews in
the NBA slam-dunking!
My alarm clock rings.

Concert of car horns
as we debate the question
of when to change lanes.

Sorry I'm not home
to take your call. At the tone
please state your bad news.

Passover-
Left the door open
for the Prophet Elijah.
Now our cat is gone.

Yom Kippur-
Please forgive me, Lord,
for having the Mercedes
and all that lobster.

Yenta. Shmeer. Gevalt.
Shlemiel. Shlimazl. Meshuganah
Oy! To be fluent!

Quietly murmured
at Saturday services,
Yanks 5, Red Sox 3.

Looking for pink buds
to prune, the old moyel wanders
among his flowers.

Hard to tell under
the lights -- white Yarmulke or
male-pattern baldness?


A lovely nose ring,
excuse me while I put my
head in the oven.

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