My ol' man's a mushroom maven.
Much gets made of that.
He sports a mushroom macintosh
to match his mushroom hat.
He markets mushroom kippers
from his mushroom chipper van.
When I've grown big, I'll get that gig:
I'll mirror my ol' man.
Mom's, as well, a mushroom maven,
touts its outs 'n' ins,
inscribes tefillin parchment scripts
on dried cremini skins,
like, "Fret not! Cease from anger!"
from the 37th psalm.
To become a mushroom maven,
I shall merely mime my mom.
My sister Mae's a mushroom maven;
sister Mim's another.
They both knit mushroom kippahs
for Methuselah, their brother --
mushroom kittels, mushroom tzitzits;
countless mushroom tallits, too.
When turn'd thirty three, I hope to be
a mushroom maven, nu...?
No comments:
Post a Comment