“I have heard the songs of lost goys, seen

them throw their kosher wives away for

shiksas with an easy fix to score a dark oblivion.

I have watched them chase away

their dreams for gay Gurus in sheister

shopping Malls; and dived into myself at

at Moma. The Museum of Modern Fart,

where I found God

who ripped me off during a fake mantra session

in downtown Manhattan, before a  hot Mandala.

But I have come through, oh my brothers!

And now I sing of the universal Bagel.

International panacea. Hot from the oven of

Jahweh, at Louis’ Delicatessen on the Lower

East side, New York.

Open Sesame Seed Bagel!  Or a crammed Get High

Poppy Dream Bagel!

Surrounded by a cole slaw sea and

a Salt beef mountain.

Yeah Yeah!      Oh Yid Here we sat down and

Played our harps by the waters of Manhattan

singing “Make Bagels, oh my friends! Not War.”

And comrade! You  who dreamed of a bright

red dawn. Hurl away your hammer, snap your

angry sickle. Oh Comrade! Come! Join me.

Join me in love.

Take a bite of my sweet and sour pickle. .

And as for you! Oh Goy! Enjoy.

Join in the feast of joy.

Tear away your crown of thorns,

forget your star in the East. Your bed of nails.

Your holier than thou Christian pie in the sky.

Bite my blissful blintz, my Pastrami on Rye. And

I shall try to put aside

The Father, the Son and the Holocaust.

Bernard Kops



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