On the Bus

A man was reading on the bus;
His book was in his lap.
Another passenger appeared
To take a little nap.

But they were the exceptions
For, together or alone,
The vast majority I saw
Were staring at a phone.

They tapped or swiped or listened,
So intent upon the screen
That they wouldn’t notice if a group
Of Martians would convene.

It was so not so long ago when phones
Could not be carted ‘round,
So riders read or they conversed
And daydreams did abound.

Yet ride a bus today and what
Will get a second look
Is not the folks on phones but yes,
The one who reads a book.

My Younger Self

I cleaned my closet out today
And this is what I found:
The remnants of my younger self,
Both touching and profound.

My Beatles dolls (just Paul and George)
And matching magazines,
Two plaster molds I’d painted
Well before I hit my teens.

Some programs from the football games
At which I used to cheer,
A datebook filled with Sweet 16’s
I went to that same year.

A bunch of souvenirs from trips –
West Point, D.C., the Zoo
And photos posed with family
Or friends that I once knew.

I traced my life through greeting cards
From when I met my spouse
And found a thank you from the agent
When we bought our house.

My children’s shoes, in boxes,
Are among the things I saved –
First sneakers, bucks and sandals,
Even snow boots – how depraved!

I threw away a bunch of stuff
But most I put right back,
A neater version waiting for
The next time I attack.

An afternoon revisiting
The life I used to lead
Made me realize that the younger me
Has disappeared, indeed.

A Near Encounter

The cop said, “Stop! You cannot pass.
A truck is coming through.”
We saw no vehicle but did
Just what he said to do.

This happened by the mayor’s digs.
The cop was clearly thrilled
To let us know that soon enough,
Our wish would be fulfilled.

For in a moment, the “First Lady”
Would pass in the truck
And we might catch a glimpse of her
If we would be in luck.

Michelle Obama? We did ask
With very little hope.
“The Mayor’s wife!” he answered,
Like a sighting of the Pope.

A big black car came through the gates,
The windows tinted black.
The mayor’s wife, I must assume,
Was sitting in the back.

I guess that cop feels special
To be near those at the top,
But we just felt a tad annoyed
Because we had to stop.

My Bathrobe

I rarely wear a bathrobe
But I have one, just in case.
It hangs there in the closet,
Taking up some primo space.

Mine is calf-length and it’s yellow
With a breakfast food motif.
Though it’s cute, the times I’ve worn it
Have been scattershot and brief.

Yet tonight it seemed to beckon
So I’m wearing it right now.
It’s as comfortable as any
Piece of clothing will allow.

But I’m certain that tomorrow
To the closet it will go.
Though it’s comfy and it’s cozy,
It’s not me the way I know.

When I’m in for some duration
And I’m ready to relax,
Tees and drawstrings, loose and baggy,
Have a pull my robe just lacks.

A Little Chill

A little chill is in the air
And bars tap pumpkin ale.
Varieties of orange
In the fashion world prevail.

The clothing stores have hats and scarves;
The shoe stores carry boots
And jelly apples try to act
As ice cream substitutes.

The windows open, A/C’s off
And stoops start sporting mums.
I love that little chill, for I am
Thrilled when autumn comes.

Boom-a-lock-choo

She was fed, she was clean,
She was burped, but she cried
Though we held her and rocked her;
We tried and we tried.

'Til in sheer desperation,
With her on my shoulder,
I walked and I patted
And somehow cajoled 'er.

The secret was singing.
The lyrics, you see,
Popped out without thinking;
Surprised even me.

With a boom-a-lock choo
And a boom-a-lock chow,
She fell deeply asleep
And she's still sleeping now.

When it comes to a baby,
Whatever works - do it!
For a boom-a-lock-choo
May just get you right through it.

The Pope's Visit

The city’s prepared for the Pope;
The challenge is having to cope.
            With access denied
            To where folks walk and ride
There’ll be many who bellow and mope.

But of course, people cherish the hope,
Though they’re on the wrong side of the rope,
            That they’ll get a quick peek
            Which is all that they seek.
Are their chances conceivable? Nope!

Yogi Berra: R.I.P.

He uttered many famous words,
The ones we all can quote.
“Ain’t over ‘til it’s over,”
He spoke out; reporters wrote.

A fixture on the Yankees’ field,
Beloved number 8
Was who we wanted squatting there,
A king behind home plate.

He caught Don Larsen’s perfect game
And leaped into his arms,
While all the world was grinning
At his boyish joyous charms.

Aside from all his skills and rarely
Missing any toss,
Our admiration grew each time
He tangled with the boss.

And now he’s gone, but with his words
I’m sure we’ll all agree:
“The future ain’t” (and never will be)
“What it used to be.”

Preconceptions

Sometimes preconceptions
Hit the nail right on the head.
Reality gives suppositions
Double thumbs-up cred.

We tend to make predictions
When our feeling’s very strong
But the thing with preconceptions is
That half the time they’re wrong.

Procreation

Procreation makes a nation
Populous and proud
But the kicker, it makes thicker
Every single crowd.

For each baby will, not maybe,
Take his rightful place.
Then each city, big or bitty,
Could run out of space.

Celebration of creation
Thus should be subdued
But there’s no braking baby-making
When folks are in the mood.

Wrap It Up

Acceptance speech goes on too long?
The music starts to play,
A not-so-subtle message –
That’s enough for you to say!

Imagine if such power
We could in our lives employ,
In essence shutting people up
Before they can annoy.

A night you’re feeling tired
And the company won’t leave?
A little burst of music
And the hint they will receive.

Though a few ignore the tidings
That the melody implies,
Most will wrap it up, obeying
What’s a send-off in disguise.

Neat

A neighbor died, quite unexpected;
All who knew him were affected.
Though our paths did rarely cross,
Neighborly, I feel the loss.

This is what I overheard
As building workers spread the word:
“The nicest guy you’d ever meet
And his apartment was so neat!”

I told my husband, when I die,
With this one wish, please do comply –
Do not, despite how they might press,
Let people in to see this mess!

Cancer-Us

Larry: prostate, Jodi: colon;
Marilyn, Barbara: lung.
All deceased, a cancer group
We’d hate to be among.

Other names that I could add
Have managed to survive
But it’s a crapshoot if we die
Or get to stay alive.

Nothing we can do about it
But to live each day
Pretending that if Death drops by,
He will not choose to stay.

Sacrifice

When kids are born, we sacrifice –
Our time, our sleep, our food.
Activities we once enjoyed
We sometimes must exclude.

We share our sandwich and our seat;
We schlep to kiddie classes
And sometimes opportunity
Waves smugly as it passes.

The sacrifices, once they start,
Will change as children grow,
From nursery school to college dorm,
Through all life’s ebb and flow.

The offerings we make, of course,
Are given from the heart,
For love’s a force so powerful
It grips us from the start.

While first-time parents may be thrilled
With how this love transcends,
They’ll be surprised when they find out
The giving never ends.

Chips and Dip

I never eat potato chips,
Especially with dip
But sometimes, when there’s company,
Resolve just seems to slip.

And once I start, I prove the point
That ad campaign’d begun –
When chips and dip are waiting,
You can never eat just one.

So here I go, with no control,
Each chip leads to the next
And when my pants won’t zipper,
Well, I shouldn’t be perplexed.

A Puff of Smoke

Youth is like a puff of smoke –
You see it, then it’s gone.
The proof is in old photo albums
I just gazed upon.

The smiling faces caught on film
No longer look the same,
Despite a slight resemblance
To the selves that we became.

Although it’s great to see again
The happy times we’ve had,
Those photographs from years ago
Can also make me sad.

For once we were so young, old age
Was like a distant joke.
How could we know it lurked behind
That vanished puff of smoke?

A Little Down Time

A little down time’s what we need
When things get wild and hectic,
For too much surge can sizzle
And will short out what’s electric.

We think that we can overload
But circuits just can’t take it
And if we don’t recharge, we’ll find
That some of us won’t make it.

So sometimes stepping back feels right –
A break from chug-chug-chugging –
To spend a little down time
Just relaxing and unplugging.

Undercurrents

Beneath the plastered smiles,
Underneath the phony cheer,
You might see, if you look closely,
Undercurrents will appear.

They belie the placid surface
So all goers should take heed,
For a sturdy constitution
Is the thing you really need.

To avoid a true disaster,
Don't get sucked into the sea
Or the currents there will take you
Where you do not want to be.

The Way Things Go

You buy the perfect present.
You wrap it up real nice.
You add a card with loving thoughts,
So you'll see smiles twice.

The gifts all sit there waiting.
The birthday boy's all set,
But yours will make his face light up;
You're sure enough to bet.

Then suddenly you notice
Someone else has bought the same.
That giant grin you know will come
Will not be yours to claim.

You feel some disappointment
But that's just the way things go.
You'll buy another present
With another card and bow.

Take Note

I have a thought – I write a note
Or else I will forget it,
For if I can’t remember it,
I’ll certainly regret it.

With post-its on my calendar
Or jottings on the fridge,
The odds of keeping things in mind
Improve at least a smidge.

My phone has a “Reminders” app;
I sometimes add things there.
The times I check it, I’ll admit,
Exceedingly are rare.

Yet somehow when I stop and scrawl
A quick reminding note,
It helps to jog my memory
To think of what I wrote.

So if you come to visit
You will see, as you suspected,
Scattered notes on every surface –
One which says that you’re expected!

The Balance

If days were never cloudy
We would cherish not the sun,
For it’s only in the balance
We appreciate each one.

So in life, we take this lesson,
Since the very same applies;
Without sorrow in the mix, true joy
We would not recognize.

After days and days of sunshine,
There’s relief to see the rain,
Though we don’t feel quite so welcoming
When joy gives way to pain.

Filling in Some Pieces

We rarely get to see our friends
When they are off at work.
We hear about their colleagues
Or their boss who is a jerk.

But picturing their office
Or wherever they’re employed
Isn’t something we spend time on –
(Not unless you’re Dr. Freud.)

So tonight was most intriguing.
I’d occasion to attend
A memorial to Marilyn,
My dear departed friend.

It was organized by workmates,
Many whom she’d known for years.
Though I recognized their names,
We’d had quite different careers.

I heard supervisors’ stories
And from buyers in her field,
Nodding knowingly as all her traits
Were laughingly revealed.

They supplied some missing pieces
Of the life of hers I’d known,
For we each have an impression
Of our friends that’s ours alone.

Though the puzzle’s not completed –
That’s impossible to do –
I increased my understanding
Of the Marilyn I knew.

Upset

A tennis player loses
And they say he’s been upset.
Well, naturally, I understand
Upset is what he’d get.

This term is never utilized
In any other sport.
At least, I’ve never heard it
In the sporting-news report.

“The Yankees were upset tonight,”
Implies they were in tears.
“The Knicks were so upset, they sobbed
In consolation beers.”

You’d never hear The Giants
Or the Cowboys got upset,
Yet tennis players publicly
Get linked with their regret.

I wonder how this word, so sad,
Became the one they use.
Would tennis players rather
Be upset or just plain lose?

Neon Pink

Tennis players once wore white –
A snobby rule, I think –
But how that’s changed! I guess that’s why
Here’s Federer in pink.

In truth, the pink is just a trim
To jazz his shirt and shorts.
His sneakers, though, might be a slight
Distraction on the courts.

I’m all for chic diversity
When tennis is in town,
But Roger, here is my advice –
Tell Nike – tone it down!

The Finger Bowl

In Milford,* a mansion, (Grey Towers by name)
Has a feature that I just adore.
It's a setting for dining, outdoors, under vines -
Who could ever want anything more?

But that's just the beginning - a table was made
Out of stone, in a circular style.
As a kicker, the top, where the guests would expect
Wood or glass, they'd be off by a mile.

For the table itself is a water-filled pool
And the food served in bowls that can float. 
With the surface reflecting the vines draped above, 
For best setting, they'd sure get my vote.

Someone named it The Finger Bowl, likely because
The temptation to dip is so strong
That I'm certain the guests, in their fancy attire,
Could resist it for not very long.

Ah, how nice to be rich and indulge in your whims
While the rest of us have to make do,
Yet I'm sure if the means somehow fell in my lap,
I'd design my own Finger Bowl, too!

*Pennsylvania

Manning the Grill

My husband used to barbecue
But then his interest waned.
My taste for burgers and the like,
However, has remained.

I bought a brand-new charcoal grill
Because I missed that food
But my desire to man the thing
I slightly misconstrued.

So mostly it just sits there,
Filled with spider webs and dust
But today at last I got the urge
For burgers, dogs or bust!

I piled the charcoals, spritzed the fuel
And struck a sturdy match
Then crossed my fingers, hoping that
My little pile would catch.

Voila, it worked! So carefully,
I laid the burgers down
And patiently kept tending them
'Til each was glist'ning brown.  

I lost myself within the groove,
Relaxed and sipped my beer,
Enjoying this belated stab
At barbecue this year.

And as we ate our dinner,
I admit I felt a thrill
Knowing that I finally got the hang
Of how to man the grill.

Socks

Here is Henry's latest game:
From in his drawer of socks,
He takes the pairs out, one by one,
And then each pair "unlocks."

As soon as they are pulled apart, 
They're tossed up in the air
Until the floor is covered,
With some blank spots here and there.

Yet once the fun part is complete, 
The learning then begins.
We match the socks to make up pairs
And everybody wins.

The socks end up back in the drawer,
Since clean-up's what we do.
When Henry comes up with a game, 
I have a great time, too.

Just One Big Sun

Just one big sun is in the sky
To shower us with light
And like things on which we rely,
We undermine its might.

Unless we see it rise and set,
Its beauty’s often missed.
To many people, I would bet,
It hardly does exist.

But when you see it first appear,
A’glow in neon pink,
It beats the finest chandelier
And makes you stop and think…

That Nature has the upper hand
When majesty’s close by
And sunrise really does demand
The awe we should supply.

So yes, the sun is still the same
No matter where you roam,
But catching it in morning’s flame
We rarely do at home.

Railroad Ruminations

Rode on a railroad (narrow gauge)
Along the scenic coast,
A little taste of life gone by,
When folks used trains the most.

We sat on benches, facing out,
The car with open side
And school kids joined the tourists
For an old-time railroad ride.

Pedestrians on nearby paths
All paused to glance our way
And as we rumbled past, we waved
And grinning, so did they.

A train has charm we seldom see -
The whistles and the clacks
Of choo-choo noises as it moves
Along the metal tracks.

No matter if they're very young
Or closer to the grave,
When people see a train chug by,
It makes them want to wave.

The Umbrella Cover Museum

Start collecting objects;
Set 'em up so folks can see 'em
And you'll find, before you know it,
You've established a museum.

I stopped in to such a place -
Umbrella covers on display -
Off of Portland, Maine (Peaks Island),
Which I visited today.

The curator and its founder
(An accordion player, too!)
Found a little niche and perfect place
To do what she can do.

She's accumulated cases
From umbrellas 'round the world,
Where these various umbrellas lived
Until they were unfurled.

So she showed me her collection
And before the tour was through, 
Her accordion appeared; we sang.
Well, this was something new!

When you travel, you encounter
Folks and places you might find
May be more than merely different -
They might really blow your mind!