"Alice of Wonderland Visiting New York"

In the children’s ward of a hospital,

Through the W.P.A.*

A 16-panel mural

Was, for patients, on display.

 

The artist, Abram Champanier,

In 1938,

Took the Lewis Carroll characters

From “Alice” to create

 

A tale of Wonderland’s whole cast

As they visited each site

Of the city of New York

To fill the children with delight.

 

So there on Lady Liberty,

The subway and the zoo,

The Empire State and Steeplechase,

Are Alice and her crew.

 

The building was abandoned

After years and it was marked

For a renovation, so a group

Of volunteers embarked

 

On a plan to save the murals,

Which they managed to preserve.

Our gratitude is not enough

To give what they deserve.

 

The restoration took some years

And now they are on view.

A museum** in New York is where

I saw them; so can you.

 

How wonderful to have a chance

To see each vibrant scene

And to reinforce the joy of art

And how much it can mean.

 

*Works Progress Administration

**Museum of the City of New York

Missed!

His dog was on a grassy field

That clearly said, “No Pets!”

Entitlement in every way,

As awful as it gets.

 

For adding to his flagrant

Disregard of that one sign,

He puffed on a cigar, when smoking’s

Also out of line.

 

What really got to me, though,

Was his bag of doggy poo,

Which he clutched and looked around,

Unsure of what he next would do.

 

Beyond the fence and out of reach,

A trashcan on the street

Sat waiting for deposits

So the sidewalks would stay neat.

 

Too lazy to walk over,

He reached back and made a toss,

Knowing that, most likely, he could get

That doggy bag across.

 

I watched it sail and with a plop,

Land, not inside the can,

But on the ground right next to it,

Not following his plan.

 

I stopped myself from yelling out

A simple message: “Missed!’

Since those entitled might be

Unpredictable when pissed.

 

The way the world is nowadays,

You have to watch your back,

For those who get away with things

Are likely to attack.

The Thing About a Leash

In the park was a man

With a stroller, as well

As a dog on a leash,

Which he tried to compel

 

To begin the trip home,

But the dog wouldn’t budge.

Having neither at hand,

I guess I shouldn’t judge.

 

First the man gave a tug

In a joking-type way

As the dog flopped down flat,

Showing he meant to stay.

 

Then he flipped on his back

With his paws in the air,

Which is when I moved on,

So though I’m unaware

 

Of the outcome, I’d bet

Not a minute more passed

‘Til the leash got a yank

And they went home at last.

Energy Levels

Your energy level’s

Related to age,

Though not everybody

Is on the same page.

 

Most babies and toddlers

Need hours of sleep

And after some playtime,

Fall down in a heap.

 

Yet others run circles

Around those routines

And when sent for a nap

Make the loudest of scenes.

 

Often as you grow up,

Those proclivities stay

And the sleep you require

Will keep holding sway.

 

However, when reaching

Those senior-type years,

Your energy lessens

Or plain disappears.

 

So, just like a baby,

Your pep seems to sap

And, although you may fight it,

You’re needing a nap.

 

The circle of life

Brings us back to the start

Where the young and the old

Aren’t too far apart.

The End of July

The end of July

Means the summer’s half gone, 

Though the season’s activities

Keep going on.

Yet with camps winding down,

School supplies on the shelves,

We must face what’s ahead -

No deceiving ourselves.

I, for one, will not miss

The hot weather and sweat

And, as autumn approaches,

I surely won’t fret.

I look forward to jackets 

And crisp chilly air,

Back to all those routines 

For which we must prepare.

Though I’m jumping the gun -

There’s still August ahead,

Which I fear will not match

How July’s somehow fled.

Closed!

A historical museum

Was the goal we’d set today.

It was open in the afternoon

And nineteen miles away.

Among its artifacts there is

A flag of which it’s said

There is blood from the assassination,

Straight from Lincoln’s head.

The building, called “The Columns”

Is as grand as you’d expect,

With a trove of local treasures 

It’s been set up to protect.

So we climbed the stairs and tried the doors 

But both were tightly locked.

No one answered when we rang the bell,

Our entrance truly blocked.

The website gave no reason

For the building to be closed.

The one in charge had better things

To do, we all supposed.

Instead, we had a lovely lunch;

The Water Wheel Cafe,

With its giant working water wheel,

Came through to save the day.

Rural Roads

Although I’m a city person,

There’s a place I get to stay 

In a lovely rural setting

When I want to get away.

And at times, we’ll head out somewhere

Where a highway doesn’t go,

So we’ll drive along for miles,

Seeing nothing that I know.

There’ll be lots of trees and pastures 

And occasionally farms,

All that emptiness of people

Setting off, in me, alarms.

Yes, the vistas all are pretty

And it’s natural and serene,

Yet I picture something going wrong

With no one on the scene.

I know urban driving’s awful -

Traffic makes your nerves explode,

But you never will get stranded,

Unlike on a rural road.