I wait at the doctor's, the dentist.
I put up with Homeland Security at airports 
to keep terrorists in ski masks away.			
I wait in diners, by the cash register, 
for a table. I listen intently when 
the owner asks if everything was okay. 
I get in line for movies, Broadway plays, 
snake lines at Six Flags;
oh, Batman and Robin, Scream Machine,
oh, Congo Rapids—the closest I'll probably 
ever get to Africa. I'm part of that hungry herd 
lining up for KFC and Wendy's.
I wait in bank lines, in the ER with arrhythmia; 
in court, for judges to get off the phone,
for lawyers stuck in traffic. Sometimes, I'm that lawyer.
(Not really. I'm never late. No one wants to 
hear that, it's like the school attendance award).
I don't like to admit I pray for a giant snowfall 
that shuts down schools and work, for the Governor 
to call a state of emergency so I can 
shovel snow and try to get my small-ass snow blower
to work. I slow down for traffic lights that turn to yellow,
I wait for lights to return after blackouts, for things 
to return to normal, so food doesn't spoil. 
I wait on cold platforms for NJ Transit. 
I used to wait on platforms for the Long Island Railroad,
stations of the crossed, the double-crossed. 
I still wait for a sign from God, I'm that gullible. 
I wait for something better than H-Bombs because 
the sun is thousands of H-Bombs going off every second.
It's no wonder outer space is a void. 

I've learned to kill time because time is killing me.
I wait for miracle cures—because, it seems,
we're so close—so that we can live as long as 
people did in the Bible. Honk like a traffic jam,
if you love Jesus. At least, I don't have to wait
for something as wonderful as sliced Wonder Bread
with its red, blue and yellow balloons on the package,
a breaded circus, the hurdy-gurdy man as baker. 
Tonight, I wait for the wind to push white clouds away, 
for star clusters behind clouds to step up to the footlights.
May I say I don't mind waiting for you.
                        

It’s not easy getting approval for a blood-sugar test kit. I had to make calls to Medicare, my pharmacy and the doctor’s office, a holy trinity of calls placed on hold as if there’s an alternative. Imagine taking a prescription to a pharmacy in Ukraine. One minute you’re at the counter. The next, the counter blows up and the college kid ringing up the sale has been shredded to pieces, the shell missing you by inches.                        

Off a post card from the Windsor Hotel, Cairo, Egypt

Dear Windsor Hotel Housekeeping:

Thank you for all you've done these past few weeks.
We must have driven you folks crazy.
One week, we're going, the next week, we're not. 
The Pharoah's okay with the Exodus, then he's worried
about what he's going to do without all the slaves.
From the bottom of our hearts—my wife, Sephora,
the kids, Aaron, my brother, and Joshua,
the whole mishpucha—
thank you, thank you, thank you. 
We know it'll be tough on you guys
and you may not even have a job
when all the Jews are gone.
No more yelling, no more whips or mud pits.  
That's why we're leaving you 500 shekels.

s/  Moses The Prophet

ps	Those ten plagues—how about all those frogs?
	We'll never have that kind of luck again.