Shabop Shalom

(Spoken Word)

Our story beings on a Sunday afternoon, just between Halfway Tree and Spanish Town, where a young boy, not yet the cock o'the walk that he would soon become, was lying on the grass and taking in the sweet and sensuous scent of Hibiscus that languidly lilted along the summer breeze. It was at this precise moment that he saw her. Her walk was soft and delicate, with a thaumaturgical touch that only a rabbi's daughter could have. Before their eyes had even met, her luminous lips had already lured him in. Salvation winked with the promise of a Bris held at pinnacle and a congregation of sage's bunny hopping and chicken dancing to Yiddish Mento. Then their eyes linked, an aeon blinked, Amharic vows were scryed upon their hearts. Just to think, this all could be with the frenectomy and a few words of love...

My Shabop Shalom Baby, won't you Shabop Shalom with me, under the old banana tree?

My sweet Telavivian lambs bread, my heart can act as an emollient and you'll never, ever say, "Get Bent!" Noooo, no, no!

Todamamatodamama