They don’t make ‘em like Henny Youngman no more
Borsht-belt comedians, vaudevillians before
Delivered punch lines one after another and another
Rat-a-tat-tat-touille ~ their tongues just like rubber
Categories:
borsht, fun, funny, nostalgia,
Form: Clerihew
Igor never ate borsht
unless he was forced
Olga dove in headfirst
~ ate 'til she burst
Categories:
borsht, food, relationship,
Form: Couplet
Pacific Street
Brooklyn New York 1953
Mud-red clay bricks, hot and worn;
brown-stone blocks carved tenements formed.
Concrete sidewalks slit and cracked
where children skipped a hopscotch tack.
Hear the smack of bats to ball
of palm to rubber against towering walls;
Of jump ropes whooshing through the air
of giggling girls with bouncing hair.
Smell the pretzels salt and sweet,
the chicken soup and borsht to eat.
Bubba’s breast, the rose perfume;
seet cigarette smoke in dark hall rooms.
Taste the vanilla ice cream cone
with chocolate shell that
Dad’s brought home.
The hot red fire ball, candy treats
the egg cream soda down the street.
Do whop Ditty songsters
in August’s heat.
Bubba’s calling from window peaks.
And Tanta’s rocking babies sweet.
Brooklyn, Brooklyn in the street.
Categories:
borsht, nostalgia
Form: Rhyme