Mr. President-Of-Our-Synagogue,

Mr. Cigar-Smoking, Beer-Drinking

Steelers-Watching, Torah-Chanting,

Mr. Fix-The-Leak-Before-The-Scrolls

Are-Ruined, Mr. Famous-Gambler

Of-Atlantic City, Mister-Without-Whom-

We-Wouldn’t-Even-Hear-A-Still-Small-Voice.

And for your faith to the word this reward.

Now your yarmulke is transducers attached

With adhesive bandages connected to wires

Plugged into a battery the size of a book

We hope is sacred.  On a Sunday morning

I sat beside your king-sized bed

And you said you slept well, and so

The day would go bad for you.

All I want is to sit on the porch,

Smoke a cigar and watch the game.

You pulled the cover back to reveal

Your tremendous hairy body

That you somehow managed to rise up

To its mountainous height.