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!