When once a year I find forbidden bits

Of bread and cookies, cake and pies long past,

I find them near the place the toaster sits;

I find them in my bed.  I am aghast!

I find them in my purse, as shards of snack;

I find them in my pockets, crumbs of dross;

And find them in the cupboards, way in back.

I find them in the linen drawer of course.

I gather them in bags to throw away,

And scrub the places that they occupied.

The chametz lurking has been kept at bay,

And order in the house now can abide.

Until the broken matzo yields its flakes,

And messiness its entrance newly makes.

Wendy Tomlinson sometimes wishes she lived during the English Renaissance, but mostly not. She can be reached at tomlinwb@gmail.com