The old haunts seem so hollow,
He knows the script, but why?
To meet them just to argue,
And avert, or hurt, his eyes?
And anyway, they’ll just stare,
At the kippah and the beard,
His opinions, wise and witty,
Will be heard only as weird.
No, he’ll stay here in the shtetl,
Where they all look just like he,
Except the one piece always missing,
That all but him can see.
Of course, they all accept him,
They invite him to their kiddush,
Where they all get the joke, except him,
When the punch line’s switched to Yiddish.
No, it’s too intense here,
He’ll spend an evening on the town,
Familiar music, sights and banter,
That leave him feeling like a clown.
Might as well catch the bus and go home
His time here’s purely bittul,
Local streets he’ll like a ghost roam,
…Unless he gets off in the middle.