A Slow Fast

For reasons that I do not know,

A fast is never fast, but slow.

I check, but still have hours to go 

And hope that I’ll get through it.

I missed the bagel that I’d eat,

The cheese and fruit, sliced up and sweet,

Plus cake to make the meal complete,

With coffee, once I’d brew it.

A yogurt here, some popcorn there,

Perhaps some grapes or, if I’d dare,

Dark chocolate, maybe just a square;

It’s tempting to say, “Screw it!”

But no, I’ll keep on with my fast 

And soon, my waiting will have passed.

When sundown comes, I’ll say, at last,

“ I knew that I could do it!”

What We Believe

We celebrate holidays,

Or we do not,

For personal reasons.

(That’s all that we’ve got.)

 

To some, it’s religion

That drives them to pray,

While others like following

Customs that they

 

Have observed since their childhoods.

For me, that’s the case

And certain traditions

I like to embrace.

 

To honor connections

With those in the past,

I’ll light special candles;

Tomorrow, I’ll fast.

 

The only true lesson

To me, on this eve,

Is it’s nobody’s business

What we each believe.

At the Street Fair

Police cars block the side streets;

The avenue’s car-free

To make the strolling easy

For pedestrians like me.

 

The booths hold clothes and jewelry

And crafts of every type,

But front and center is the food,

Deserving of the hype.

 

Most every nationality

Is represented by

Whatever meals the chefs at hand

Can chop or stir or fry.

 

Aromas fill the neighborhood

As people buy and munch

A snack to tide them over

Or a more substantial lunch.

 

Distilleries display their wares

Near smoothies packed with fruit,

The locals and the visitors

In purchasing pursuit.

 

A lovely way to spend some time

On a fall-like afternoon,

Succumbing to the urge to buy,

To which I’m not immune.

Cleaning the Windows

With paper towels and a spray,

I cleaned the window panes today.

It’s not a chore I like, but hey –

It’s what you’ve gotta do.

 

I wiped the window sills, as well,

Though, at a glance, you couldn’t tell,

But those who in Manhattan dwell

Know schmutz likes to accrue.

 

Of course, once cleaning had begun,

I dusted all the frames, each one

Just waiting ‘til they all were done

And propped back up to view.

 

Assorted bowls and vases, plus

Some tchotchkes that belong to us

Required, too, a little fuss

So they would look brand-new.

 

At last, my windows, nice and clear,

Caused my apartment to appear

Like it’s all good until next year

When guilt will bubble through.

How Much Time

We cannot know for sure

How much time we have left

And there isn’t a cure

For the loved ones, bereft.

 

Death may sometimes arrive

Just the way you’d expect,

But for those who survive,

There’s a real disconnect

 

From the world that they knew

Where their loved one drew breath

To what they can’t get through,

Which is deal with a death.

 

It has always been so

And it always will be.

When the time comes to go,

There’s no bargain or plea

 

That can change the harsh fact

Of a person’s demise

Nor step in to distract

From what hope now denies.

U-Turn from Obscene

If his name’s not on the building,

No one gets to go inside,

For to have someone else honored,

Causes damage to his pride.

 

He attempts to rule the country

Like a bully from the block

And the fact that some enable him

Leaves normal folk in shock.

 

I am tired of his tweeting

And I’m sick of all his lies.

He’ll be listed in the books as one

Most voters did despise.

 

But to end this on an upbeat note,

A U-turn from obscene,

It’s a special day for Henry,

As my grandson turns 13!

A Class on Zoom

A class on Zoom, as you’d assume,

Attracts its share of crazies,

But in your room, no need to fume;

Just rearrange your daisies

 

Or fill a grid your camera hid,

Completing Sunday’s puzzle,

If the teacher did not place a lid

On some who need a muzzle.

 

With mic sound shut, if every nut

Must jabber with a story,

You tune out, but, your tsk and tut

Won’t dampen someone’s glory.

 

The time will pass and soon your class

Will come to its conclusion

And then, en masse, you leave; the brass

Believing the illusion.