Wrinkled Shirt

My shirt is wrinkled – who will see?
No one but my spouse and me
And grandkids, via FaceTime’s screen;
But hey! At least my clothes are clean.

My bed is made, the sink is bare.
It isn’t like I just don’t care,
Though staying in, it’s quite a job
To stop from living like a slob.

My husband vacuums, I wash clothes.
We’re making do, so I suppose
A wrinkled t-shirt’s no big deal –
My wrinkled face has less appeal!

Clothespins

Years ago, in Holland,
In a cool, eclectic store,
I bought a set of clothespins
To jazz up my home décor.

Of brightly colored wood
And smaller than the average size,
I pictured them with photos
Hanging like a sweet surprise.

My plan did fizzle like
The best-laid ones of mice and men.
I tucked those clothespins where
I haven’t seen them since back then.

Until I started washing
All my laundry in the sink
And hung a make-shift clothesline
Using – well, what do you think?

My cheerful little clothespins,
Which have waited all this time
To be used as they were meant to
And immortalized in rhyme.

Cuomo's Daily Update

Through it all, this crazy season,
There has been one voice of reason:
Andrew Cuomo, New York’s guv,
A Democrat we all can love.

He gives us info, up-to-date
And all he does communicate
Is done with calm and strength and flair;
Nobody out there can compare.

Yet he is not afraid to doubt
The powers-that-be and call them out.
He’ll challenge, criticize and fight
When what he hears seems not quite right.

To me, the most important thing
Is not the data he does bring
But rather how he gives us hope
Without which, we could never cope.

Love in the Time of Covid

Although other news Covid’s somehow upstaged,
My friend called to tell me her son got engaged.
It felt like a beacon of light in a storm
For news that is good is no longer the norm.

The newly betrothed also let their friends know
They adopted a rescue dog; photographs show
Happy grins on their faces and maybe the snout
Of their puppy, although there is room for some doubt.

I picture a wedding and all it entails,
The planning reminding us hope yet prevails.
The future is hazy and up in the air
But love conquers everything, even despair.

Apartment Life Now

In apartment life you must decide
On the places where virus germs hide
Like the lobby or worse
Where we have to traverse
When an upper floor’s where we reside.

Elevators quite likely can link
Nasty droplets to us, I would think
And the laundry room’s prime
For a germ-transfer crime
So I’m washing my clothes in the sink!

I Almost

I almost went to Florida
To visit with my aunt
Until the virus landed
And my plans it did supplant.

I almost got a chance to see
A Sarasota treat.
The Ringling exhibition
Would have made the trip complete.

I almost got to quilting class
To start on something new
And as to when I’ll get there,
Well, I haven’t got a clue.

I almost got to go to Greece,
A long-awaited tour.
Perhaps next year I’ll have the chance
To get there and explore.

I almost got to see my play
Produced up on the stage.
I almost got to celebrate
My birthday’s special age.

I almost got to keep
My Friday babysitting dates.
Though FaceTime helps a bit
A lot of hugging yet awaits.

I almost got to live my life
Without this daily fear.
I’m hoping that these almosts
Will, at some point, disappear.

In the Dark

This morning I walked in the dark.
Before, I’d not go to the park
When the sky wasn’t light;
It would give me a fright
For the pathways were lonely and stark.

But now, though, my worries do lack
The fear of a mugger attack.
It’s the foe that’s unseen
Causing mass quarantine
That I hope to keep off of my back.

Ere the sunrise, the streets are devoid
Of the crowds making me paranoid.
So I breathe in the air
While remaining aware
Of each early bird I must avoid.

Social Distance

At the government’s insistence
We must keep our social distance.
Walk outdoors and cross the street
If someone’s closer than six feet.

Stores control who goes inside
So they’re not over-occupied.
Bars and restaurants have closed
Because of contact risks they posed.

Not all people heed the rules
For nothing can convince the fools.
Case in point – observe the clump
Of stone-faced folks in back of Trump.*

*This happens at all of his press conferences,
unlike those of New York’s Governor Cuomo,
who observes social distancing, even on stage.

A Deck of Cards

I’m sheltering-in-place all day
And need more things to do
For there are many hours
Once my morning walk is through.

I’m reading books and magazines
And, too, The New York Times
And obviously, I still get
To write my daily rhymes.

There’s music on and thankfully,
Some good shows on TV
And working on my quilting is
Enjoyable to me.

But suddenly I had a thought –
I’d play some Solitaire!
I knew I had a deck of cards;
The question, though, was – where?

I could play on a screen, of course,
Yet I’d prefer to deal
With cards that I could hold, like books,
Which tactilely appeal.

I searched all over; then I found,
The last place I did check,
Wrapped tightly still in cellophane,
A brand-new untouched deck.

It bore an airline logo –
Once a gratis flying perk –
And after years of waiting,
I will put those cards to work.

With all this time to fill up,
Drawers and closets may reveal
So many random things our stuff
Has managed to conceal.

Baked Beans

To help out my nephew in England,
Who’s feeling too ill to go out,
My brother-in-law decided to draw
On the Amazon site (British route).

The pickings were slim and pathetic
But there on the ordering screens
Was no pasta or rice but for quite a steep price
Just one can, rather large, of baked beans.

He ordered the can and more items
Then copied the list to his son
Who replied in a while, with the hint of a smile,
That his efforts were great, ‘cept for one.

For the can of baked beans was a fake-out,
A safe meant for hiding your cash
But with shortages now, any thief seeking chow
Would prefer some baked beans to your stash.

Though there’s irony tucked in this story
It provided a needed guffaw.
We must take what we get, so we all are in debt
To the goof of my brother-in-law.

A Robin Sang

A robin sang to me today,
Assuring all would be okay.
His chirps were loud and clear and strong
But all I thought was - he’s so wrong.

For nothing seems all right or good
And life’s not feeling like it should.
The empty streets remind me how
The future’s stuck inside the now.

The robin couldn’t really know
The fear that only seems to grow
And so I heard each robin’s tweet
As drained of hope and bittersweet.

Who Gives a Hoot?

Today is spring – who gives a hoot?
Good news, it seems, does not compute
For every day, we wake and learn
Of more to fear at every turn.

They’re out of tests, they’re out of masks;
Stay home except for major tasks.
The stores have closed, the flights curtailed.
A haircut? No, that ship has sailed.

To visit friends is not allowed
And three now really is a crowd
Although, for now, at daybreak’s glow,
I walk while it’s still apropos.

Out there, I get a taste of spring
With all the joy it used to bring
But back inside, the walls impair
The season’s glory, trapped out there.

The FedEx Truck

The FedEx truck is parked outside,
The boxes being piled,
Awaiting transfer home to
The apartment-domiciled.

Each package hits the lobby first
Where doormen do the sorting,
Relying on the numbers that
The carton’s label’s sporting.

The dwellers get a notice that
Their order has arrived
So no one feels that he or she
From shopping’s been deprived.

Containment days of quarantine
May keep us all indoors
But FedEx helps to bring us
What we’re needing from the stores.

Love and Germs

Love and germs surround us,
United by the fact
That both remain invisible
Yet cause us to react.

We must accept their presence
And protect ourselves, although
They may hover unexpectedly
In ways we do not know.

We cannot let our guard down
So should stay on high alert
For though love may make us happy,
Sometimes, it, like germs, may hurt.

St. Patrick's Day Crwth

This poem should be highlighting bagpipes,
St. Patrick’s the day, after all,
But without the parade
And the music they made
I’ve decided to buck protocol.

So instead I will bring your attention
To an instrument, ancient, that’s plucked.
It’s the Celtic stringed crwth*
And I’m telling the truth.
(Google searches feel free to conduct.)

It’s my Word of the Day on my iPhone,
One I’ve never had set on my plate
And with bagpipes on hold
Maybe we can be sold
On the vowel-less crwth for this date.

*pronounced krooth

The End of the World

The end of the world as we know it -

The cockroach, the virus, the poet. 

The Daffodils

The daffodils are cropping up;
They’re sprouting everywhere,
Reacting to the light and warmth –
Of germs, they just don’t care.

They do not know from quarantines
Or canceled sports events
But proudly wave their yellow heads
With joyous spring intents.

They’re unaware of closing schools
Or empty stores and trains,
Just bobbing in the sunshine
And awaiting April rains.

To see the daffodils today
Was Nature’s humble gift
Bestowing, in this stressful time,
A sorely needed lift.

A Piece of Pi

Have a piece of pie today –
Try apple, plum or cherry
Or key lime, lemon, Boston cream
Or one I love – mixed berry.

The choices aren’t infinite
Like digits never ending
In Pi, which though explained to me
I’m just not comprehending.

It starts with 3 point 14,
Which you’ll notice is today,
Then keeps on adding numbers
In an on and on display.

Instead of making sense of this
Or trying, I suggest
Indulging in whichever pie
Your taste buds like the best.

A Week Ago

A week ago, I rode the train
And saw a show; did not refrain
From eating out and seeing friends,
The things on which my life depends.

I’d planned a trip, was set to go,
Not knowing all that I now know.
I shopped in stores and waited for
My quilting class, which I adore.

A week ago I volunteered
But school group tours have disappeared.
So much has happened, oh, so fast.
How long, I wonder, will it last?

No Guarantee

Food in the fridge, novels to read,
On Demand on the TV.
Bathroom’s supplied; all that we need
Is to be where we’re needing to be.

So much unknown so we must proceed
In hopes that we all can agree
That obeying the rules may this virus impede
But, of course, there is no guarantee.

Cancellations

Schools, parades and lots of trips,
Cruises, flights and races;
Tennis matches and events
In other crowded places:

All are being canceled or
Postponed for times awaiting.
No one knows how soon is safe
When one’s recalculating.

Expos, luncheons, weddings, shows,
Surgeries elective
Crossed off calendars because
Of cautioning directive.

Life appears to be on hold
As virus germs go flitting
And cancellations mount while fear
Shows not a chance of quitting.

Hamantaschen

Today’s a Jewish holiday
(It’s Purim) so, of course,
We celebrate by eating,
Which I heartily endorse.

The treats of choice are hamantaschen,
Triangles of dough
With prune or poppy filling
First baked many years ago.

They’re called this based on Haman
Who set out to kill the Jews.
The mention of his name’s drowned out
With groggers or with boos.

He wore a hat (3-sided)
So the pastries bear this shape.
Queen Esther foiled his evil plans
And helped the Jews escape.

Remembering, we eat our fill;
Each hamantash’s bite
Reminds us of the story
While it fills us with delight.

Ostrich Time

The news can make you paranoid 
So maybe it is best
To act the way an ostrich does
When it feels most distressed.

Just hide your head beneath the sand
(For us, a pillow works)
And make believe you’re unaware
That danger lately lurks.

For which is better - nervous
Or oblivious to be?
The outcomes may be equal but
I know what’s best for me. 

Changing the Clocks

Certain clocks obeyed
By springing forward on their own –
The ones on the computer
Or the TV or the phone.

But my old-fashioned watch
Required a turning of the stem
And clocks around the house
Needed assistance changing them.

Our Subaru was trickiest
Though after several tries
The dashboard showed the time
On which our traveling relies.

We’re all caught up now for a while
Until the next date when
It’s time to fall behind and then
We’ll do it all again.

Sign of the Times

A woman who once craved Chanel
Had the news on too much, I could tell
For she told her new beau
What would set her aglow
Wasn’t perfume, but rather Purell!

Virus World

Wipe each surface, wear a mask;
Wash and scrub your hands.
Share this information so
Each person understands.

Don’t touch money or your face;
Stay away from crowds.
If you’re quarantined, pretend
Your ceiling’s sky and clouds.

Cancel all your travel plans;
Stock up on your food.
Find some entertainment 
To keep busy all your brood.

Welcome to our Virus World
Where COVID-19 rules 
And humans bow and grovel
To the reign of molecules.

A New York Enigma

It hasn’t been cold enough
So there’s no ice
Yet what I discovered
That made me look twice…

Was a pair of white ice skates,
Abandoned, it seems,
Tucked behind a park bench
Where the East River streams.

It was early this morning,
Few people around,
And nobody near
Where the ice skates were found.

A New York enigma
That’s up for debate –
Who left them and why?
As for when? Figure 8!

Conundrum

The more you see a person,
The more you have to say.
It doesn’t have much logic
But it always seems that way.

Run into someone from the past
And awkward silence reigns.
Of all that once connected you,
There’s not much that remains.

Yet kith and kin you speak to
Every day or once a week
Can provide that camaraderie
You never need to seek.

It’s one of life’s conundrums
That exist to give us pause
And the only explanation as to why
Is just “because.”

Souper Tuesday

Happy Souper Tuesday
To my buddies on the Soup!
Despite our different backgrounds
We’re united as a group.

We put our thoughts in writing
Hoping other souls will read,
Acknowledgement the one reward
We really want or need.

If we could meet in person,
Very few of us would bond
And not because we’re states away
Or even ‘cross the pond.

Yet that’s the beauty of a site
Where we can feel at home,
Brought together by the notions that
We craft into a poem.

So here’s to Souper Tuesday
Where there is no need to vote,
Just read and maybe comment
On the words somebody wrote.

*PoetrySoup is a place where I also post my poems

Losing Pace

The mirror’s the scariest place
For gazing at my aging face.
I realize that I’m
In the race against time
Fairly certain to lose in disgrace.

Clothes and make-up can help to erase
Certain wrinkles so I can embrace
How I look for a while
And by adding a smile
I can put forth a credible case.

Yet what tells me that I am off base
And persuades me to give up the chase
Is the camera my spouse
Likes to click, which can douse
All my confidence, leaving no trace.

March

The first two months we tromp and plod
Or trudge or slog or shuffle
While bundled up, accompanied
By cough or sneeze or snuffle.

But now the calendar has turned
And so our pace increases.
Think Sousa and start moving with
Your ear turned towards his pieces.

In other words, drop all that starch:
Today begins the month of MARCH!