Part 1:
The Candy Man
The candy man is getting old
(I should not say that I’ve been told)
But sitting here just me and you
I guarantee that it is true
His eyesight’s not too great you see
It’s going with his memory
But since he won’t admit that fact
I try to handle it with tact
I go to him and get a sweet
Then go and sit down by my seat
Five minutes pass, I try again
He looks me up and down, and then
He asks, “did I give you before?”
(He thinks he has but isn’t sure)
I look directly in his eyes
And with a tone of great surprise
I tell him, “if you gave me yet
I’m sure that you would not forget”
He nods, he gives, I wait and then
I go and do it once again
The Candy Man each Shabbos day
Keeps track how much he gave away
And says out loud he thinks it’s cool
How many kids now come to Shul…….
Part 2:
The Red Haired Boy
He scampers away;
and I wonder
whether it’s right
to keep playing this game
when I know it encourages him
The Red Haired Boy
He scampers away;
and I wonder
whether it’s right
to keep playing this game
when I know it encourages him
to lie.
But one day he will learn
that even amateur poker players can call a bluff
if you giggle and
look away.
And when your hair
is the shade of autumn leaves at sunset;
when it glows so bright
it’s a wonder your Yarmulke does not catch on fire;
well,
even an old and mostly deaf candy man
can recall
if it’s not your first time
stopping by.
Meanwhile though,
I hope you’ll forgive this septuagenarian
for helping support the local dentist.
You see,
I don’t give candy away;
I trade it.
I trade it,
for smiles.
And as the years have passed,
it seems like
the price of smiles
keeps getting higher.
Oh, I could always
make Judith smile;
it’s why
she married me.
But since Alzheimer’s came to visit,
she no longer lives at home,
and no longer smiles
when I visit her at the Center.
She just gently nods her head
when I am introduced
again,
her once auburn hair,
now wispy and mostly white
framing her pale face.
These days,
the only smiles left at home
are frozen in pictures,
mostly on faces
that’ve long since
passed on.
The boys
stop by once a week,
but I know
that more often than not,
I’m just a burden.
So
you will forgive me
I hope,
for shopping
where the smiles
are cheap.
And when someone
with
auburn hair
and bright eyes
comes back again,
well…
I think
you’ll understand.
--------
Noam uses writing as a medium to try to make sense of the world. With an MBA from NYU Stern, years in Yeshiva as a student and Rebbe, and an addiction to books; Noam secretly dreams of one day knowing everything... or at least truly understanding something. He can be reached at nyjlaz@yahoo.com.
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