Studs

My boots have studs like you might see
On any biker chic.
I wondered if they were the right ones
That I ought to pick.

Yet they look cool and fit so great
I figured, what the hell –
And no one’s laughed behind my back
(As far as I can tell).

When I was younger, though, the only
Way I’d want a stud
Was to come across one in a club
Made out of flesh and blood!

Wending

I love the ending of the week
As weekend time draws near
And though I am retired,
Still, it's absolutely clear

The feeling's different in the air
On Saturdays and Sundays,
Despite the fact they're often
Much more chore- than having fun-days.

So Friday nights, to celebrate,
Whenever I am able,
You'll find me at a restaurant,
A draft beer on my table.

I'll raise my glass in honor of
The week that's at its ending
And drink to welcome in the one
Through which I'll soon be wending.

Helium Balloons

Helium balloons may last
Well past when they're inflated,
Although longevity like that
Is vastly overrated.

For who needs "Welcome Baby" ones
When yours is two years old;
And most "Congratulations" 
After weeks start growing cold.

Balloons fulfill their duties well
But often they will pop;
With helium, however,
All those greetings never stop.

Yet there's one way to tell
If a balloon should bite the dust - 
When it's puckered, loose and droopy,
Then its message you can't trust.

"Once" Again

I like to read a book just once,
No matter how I like it;
So when I finish, from my list,
I’ll go ahead and strike it.

The same applies to Broadway shows –
One time is quite enough;
If I go back again, it seems
It’s just not up to snuff.

For movies, though, this won’t apply,
Or certain TV shows.
When favorites hit the screen, I’m glued;
That’s just the way it goes.

Today I went against my rule,
(A habit I should fix)
So we saw “Once” a second time
(My husband had cheap tix).

It reaffirmed that I should always
Take my own advice,
For seeing “Once” just once was great;
I overdosed on twice.

For Our Age

We look good for our age, my friend remarked
And though it might be true,
Acknowledging the obvious
Appears to be taboo.

For though we could look much much worse
When you count up our years,
If you add “for our age,” that praise
Just up and disappears.

The sagging skin and wrinkles
We would banish if we could,
But since we can’t, I guess that
“For our age,” we’re looking good.

Opening Doors

Toddlers love to open doors
And close them just as well.
The same applies to drawers,
At least as far as I can tell.

Among my grandson’s favorite toys
Are vehicles with doors.
He opens and he shuts them
In a way that never bores.

For someone oh, so little,
Being tiny takes its toll
So it must feel quite amazing
Having doors at his control.

As I watch him close and open
With such serious intent,
What I wonder is, to Henry,
What those doors must represent.

Go Oz!

Every runner has a reason
Why he’s in the race
And each makes the decision
Of attire, gear and pace.

I stood out in the freezing cold
And watched them dash on by,
United by a goal, yet
Most unique in how they’d try.

Across the street, I saw some signs –
“Go Oz!” in big bold print
So Oz (whoever he might be)
Would catch it on his sprint.

Then suddenly a roar rang out
And it was what I guessed;
A shirtless runner came in view
With OZ spelled on his chest.

He loped along with arms aloft,
His face a beaming grin
As if, by seeing all his friends,
He’d gone and snared a win.

His finish time’s a mystery
But surely such support
Helped both Oz and all the racers
In the spirit of the sport.