A Poem For Shulchan Orech
Smells from the kitchen
Soup. Matzah ball soup
I smell the chicken in the oven
but it's not breaded schnitzel, man
This week is a drag
We’re midway through the Seder and it’s time to eat
But there ain’t no dinner rolls tonight
No taco shells and hot dog buns at this party
No, we got a matzah meal made of matzah meal
This week is Dragsville, cats, a king-size drag.
Lying in bed and my eyes are heavy
I’m floating through the void, man
With nothing but burrito dreams and pita pocket memories
Someday I’ll get out of this rut
We got meatballs made of lamb
Traditions and symbols, it's not so bad
At the Seder the hard-boiled egg comes before the chicken
Once we were slaves, baby
I think about the button-down brains in this town
The milquetoasts, the bean counters, the bread stashers
But those squares can eat their hearts out
Because when I look at my plate I know where it’s at
Turn your eyes inside and dig the vacuum
This week’s a drag, baby, but it won’t bring me down
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