A thank-you poem to my mother, who had gifted April and me with two clocks.


Thank you so much for the box with the clocks!
We’re grateful indeed for the ticks and the tocks.
They’ll rouse us from bed (though we’ll let out some squawks);
We’ll put on a robe and a pair of Reeboks®,
Then we’ll trundle to breakfast for bagels & lox
(Which we might eat up cold, or might heat up in woks).
The clock with the ceiling light knocks off our socks,
And the piano’s as good as the gold in Fort Knox.
The tune that’s by Beethoven (not Bach’s or Bloch’s)—
Is it played by a client of Mr. Hurok’s?

This poem’s been written by two rhyming jocks:
A committee of poets appointed ad hoc(s). <--poetic license
Its style’s intended to closely approx-
Imate one of our country’s most revered docs,
Whose birthday’s today! No—it’s not Dr. Spock’s,
But Seuss’s (he of the socks on a fox)!