Bob

He used to race 100 miles

And tell us all about it.

We always saw him running,

So we had no cause to doubt it.

 

The races that I entered then

Were 6.2 in miles

And mostly run in Central Park;

We differed in our styles.

 

I still get out and walk each day,

My racing days behind me,

And early morning, by the river,

That is where you’ll find me.

 

Yet he sits mostly on a bench,

His walker at the ready,

The river feeling far away;

His gait is too unsteady.

 

I used to marvel at the thought

Of hundred mile races,

But seeing where we’re both at now,

I’d not be trading places.

Maps

We used to keep maps

In our home and the car

To navigate when

We were traveling far.

 

Most were AAA issued;

We got them for free

For New York or wherever

Our next trip would be.

 

When planning a journey,

We’d highlight the route

So, aside from construction,

There’d be no dispute.

 

We relied on our maps

Until GPS came,

Then a voice gave directions;

It wasn’t the same.

 

With WAZE, there are updates

Of traffic, we’re told,

So our routes can be switched

With no maps to unfold.

 

Our stash, which once helped us

Avoid getting lost

Has, except for some strays,

Been, quite candidly, tossed.

Sunbathers on the Grass

People sunbathe on the grass

So everyone needing to pass

Can get a good view,

Which they’re likely to do,

Of, because of the thongs, lots of ass.

 

Since this spot is a park, not a beach,

Such visions should be out of reach,

But those choosing to bare

Derrieres do not care

And would likely resent those who preach.

 

Yet I wonder what pleasure they find

Having strangers admire their behind.

Even if I were young,

I would not be among

Those to whom such displays are inclined.

Such a Treat

Our grandson had a party

To attend near where we live,

So a place to stay with Uber rides

Was what we had to give.

 

At 12 years old, Bar Mitzvahs beckon;

He’s a busy guy.

It’s hard to understand how fast

The years are zipping by.

 

Yet it was such a treat for us

To have him come to stay,

For even just the shortest time

With him can make our day.

 

To see the city through his eyes,

The place his dad was raised,

Is the part of nana-ing that leaves me

Happy and amazed.

Today's Dance Recital

The dance recital featured girls

From 3 to high school age,

With choreography and costumes

Lighting up the stage.

 

Our grandchild in the hip hop group

Is old enough to know

The full routine with all the steps,

Her confidence a’glow.

 

The youngest dancers, oh, so cute,

Came out not quite prepared.

Should they be twirling? Maybe not,

But no one really cared.

 

Except for one who stood transfixed,

Like staring at a wall.

I couldn’t tell, but maybe

She was crying through it all.

 

I wondered how her parents felt

But I could surely guess,

Since oftentimes what we expect

Instead, is slightly less.

Heat

My apartment, this morning, had heat

Which, because it was cold, was a treat.

Though I really must say,

For the middle of May,

It’s a threshold we rarely do meet.

Now the weatherman strangely predicts 

That by Tuesday, we’ll be in a fix

Since the weather will - Jeez!

Reach to 90 degrees,

Which means Winter gets no more last licks.

If that happens, I’ll need the A.C.,

For the heat and I do not agree.

Mother Nature, I find,

Cannot make up her mind

So we suffer, to varied degree.

-

Eggplant

The eggplants at the fruit stand

Were on sale for just a buck.

My husband’s eggplant-picking rules

Inside my head were stuck:

 

You want one that is firm but light.

I didn’t question why,

But hefting two, the heavy one

I therefore didn’t buy.

 

It seems I made the perfect choice,

For, sliced up very thin,

Then bread-crumb topped and fried in oil,

The taste just made me grin.

 

I’m married to a man who cooks

And gears things to my taste.

That eggplant filled a platter high,

But none will go to waste.

 

To think, a meal with plenty left,

With pasta on the side,

At a cost of just a dollar,

Left me more than gratified.