My Mother’s Brisket

The smell first hits me from five blocks away
It’s Friday and I can’t stay away
The Blue Jays are playing but I won’t likely risk it
I’m here with a plan to binge on her brisket...
My mother’s brisket
So moist and tender
Always sends me
On another Shabbos bender
The onions and carrots look nice
I don’t need them and potatoes, no dice
There are only two things that suffice
My mother and her brisket
My mother’s brisket
So silky smooth
Whatever might happen all week
There’s nothing quite like it to soothe
Don’t need a forshpeis or any desserts
I got no room, my stomach already hurts
On Monday I’m altering shirts
Thanks to her brisket
I want to climb, climb
Into her brisket
I could cry, die
At the thought of her brisket
I want to swim in her gravy and thrillingly flailing, I’ll whisk it
The judges will give all the gold
To my mother’s brisket
My mother’s brisket
Strictly glatt
The butchers revere her
Reserving the very, extraordinary, best cut
Her picture’s on the wall in between Schneerson and Yentl
Her brisket can make even flossing seem transcendental
I’m alive, diving
Into her brisket
I swoon, spoon
Her soft sweet brisket
And if I really get lucky tonight
Though it’s easy ’cause she loves to spoil
Shabbos candles will reflect their last light
In blessed tin foil
I want to climb, climb
Into the tin foil
I can’t wait to get home
With my tin foil
I’m gonna run all the red lights
Pull it over, stop it and frisk it
I want twenty-five years to life
With my mother’s brisket
Solitarily confined to every slice
Of my mother’s brisket