Can it really be June?
How’d
it get here so soon?
I’m
not ready to belt out
A
summertime tune.
Days
are long enough now
And
I just don’t know how
I
can fill them with all that
Restrictions
allow.
Still,
most folks won’t agree
Thinking
summer will be
Back
to how it once was
Living
life Covid-free.
But
my coming-out’s slow
And
there’s one thing I know
That
before we blink twice,
June
will pick up and go.
For 17 long years they stay
In
limbo, underground,
But
when, at last, they do emerge,
You’ll
know that they’re around.
Cicadas
noisily arrive
And
swarm in our surroundings.
We’re
powerless to stop them,
With
their loud and constant houndings.
But
there are clever people
Who
don’t try to overlook them.
Instead,
they figured out some ways
That
they can spice and cook them.
They
fry them up to get some crunch
Or
sprinkle them in stews.
For
chefs, a free ingredient
Means
there’s not much to lose.
So
gather those cicadas
As
they crash; I’ll be impressed.
But
if you serve cicada toast,
I
will not be your guest!
He ate one apple, then two pears,
Three
plums and, likely, unawares,
Four
strawberries, then what came next?
Five
oranges, as per the text.
Not
finished, there was chocolate cake,
An
ice cream cone and, no mistake,
A
pickle and Swiss cheese, a slice,
Another
of salami – nice!
A
lollipop, some cherry pie,
A
sausage and a cupcake; why
Continue?
For the story’s sake,
One
snack to go ‘fore stomach ache.
And
that would be, in Carle’s cool tellin’
One
fat slice of watermelon.
What
would follow would be brief –
Relief,
from munching on a leaf.
Eric
Carle, a kids’ lit thriller,
Wrote
The Hungry Caterpillar
More
than fifty years ago
And
every reader in the know
Should
feel forever in his debt
For
showing us, the best way yet,
That
life may take us for a spin
But
beauty waits for us within.
The Real Estate section included a list
Of
cities, the best and the worst,
To
garden and I wasn’t very surprised
That
from coast to coast they were dispersed.
But
this wasn’t your typical gardening, no,
For
the cities that they had reviewed
Were
places like Austin, Miami, Seattle –
Where
you can mow lawns in the nude.
Now,
I’m not into gardening, but if I were
I
still doubt I would worry enough
About
finding a house with a nice patch of land
So
that I could plant seeds in the buff!
When, in your life, a huge event
Occurs,
it’s soon quite evident
Who’s
there for you and who is not –
You
learn what kind of friends you’ve got.
For
whether surgery or wedding,
Anything
that’s got you fretting,
Those
who care will show support
And
those who don’t will come up short.
We
all have lives and might forget
From
time to time, but I would bet
Your
closest buddies will provide
The
strength you’re needing by your side.
But
be prepared, for you may find
When
your event slips someone’s mind,
There
is no cause to be distraught –
She’s
not as close as you once thought.
On the outpatient floor
Where
you fill out the forms,
We
joined masked people, distanced,
All
following norms.
With
the paperwork done,
You’d
sit down until paged
But
the person behind us
Was
counter-engaged.
See,
before he checked in,
His
son whispered, “You know,
You
can daven real soon –
In
that corner you’ll go.”
For
an Orthodox Jew
Must
obey the commands
And
to daven, or pray’s
What
the Torah demands.
So
my husband was called
Then
the guy who was next,
Who
was still in the corner
Reciting
his text.
After
surgery, he
And
my husband came out.
Both
were fine - one sans prayer,
The
other devout.
When I started to jog
Back in ‘75
(When so many of you
Weren’t even alive)
The choices of shoes
You would wear on a run,
For a woman, at least,
Made the shopping no fun.
Just Adidas and Brooks,
And with limited styles,
Were the options to wear
As I chalked up the miles.
Then came Reebok, but still,
All the pickings were slim
So you’d see the same shoes
On the streets or the gym.
But that isn’t the case
Anymore, as you know.
The selection had managed
To crazily grow.
As I sit here and marvel
At sneaker-clad feet,
I will rarely, if ever,
Detect a repeat.
