On the Train

On the train, there’s room to spare

And lovely air-conditioned air.

I have 2 seats – no need to share;

It’s pleasant, no disputing.

 

The windows give a city view

Of buildings on Park Avenue

And sometimes a construction crew,

Their hoes and diggers rooting.

 

At every station, people board,

Their day beginning, heading toward

A job or visit, their reward

For miles of such commuting.

 

For me, this type of travel’s rare,

A different way of getting there.

No traffic causing me despair,

Anxiety diluting.

 

The novelty’s what makes it cool

But daily train rides, as a rule,

Would not be fun, as any fool

Would never be refuting.

Not For Me

It’s easy keeping things the same;

There’s comfort in the knowing

Exactly what you should expect

When coming or when going.

 

Yet many choose to shake things up

And find a joy in changing

By purchasing some brand-new stuff

Or simply rearranging.

 

While I admire those who have

The gumption for the shake-up,

To switch things out is not for me;

It isn’t in my make-up.

When Disappointments Happen

When disappointments happen

(And of course, you know they will),

It’s hard to then remember

There are good things out there, still.

 

For all that you can think about

Is how the day went wrong,

As if the positives in life

Don’t really quite belong.

 

And minor setbacks do not rank

With really awful stuff,

Though for some people, tiny glitches

Spoil things enough.

 

I guess we have to suck it up

When plans may crash and burn,

But that’s a lesson that we’re always

Having to relearn.

A Horse

My husband says he wants a horse,

Which could be reason for divorce.

That’s if his wish were true, of course,

But it is simply not.

 

His horse fixation is a joke,

Though it’s been years since he first spoke

Of owning one; each little poke

Confirming he forgot

 

That hobby horse I gave him, which

I’d thought would satisfy that itch.

Yet now he’s on a brand-new pitch

To take another shot.

 

We live in New York city, though;

We have no place for hay to stow

Nor land for galloping, so whoa!

He can’t be hot to trot.

 

The funny part is knowing Mel

Would not, upon a horse, do well.

He’ll hate this poem, but I can tell

Deep down, he knows what’s what.

Whackos

The world is full of whackos

If you listen to the news,

And not just those who do not share

Your values or your views.

 

It’s not always mental illness

That makes certain folks behave

In a way that spreads discomfort

In the way they rant and rave.

 

An unruly person flying

Bit a passenger on board,

Just another fine example

Of the point I’m aiming toward.

 

There’s another tale of someone

On a plane who left his seat

And attempted opening a door

At 30,000 feet.

 

Hey, right here in New York City,

I have sensors to avoid

All those people on the streets

Who leave me scared more than annoyed.

 

Life is challenging for many

But it seems at every turn

There’s a whacko waiting in the wings

To cause you some concern.

Cufflinks

Does anyone still buy, for dad,

Some cufflinks on this day?

It’s what I sometimes bought for mine

When shirts were made that way.

 

It had to be a local store

Which carried varied clothes,

Including the accessories;

That’s how the mem’ry goes.

 

My dad’s been gone for many years,

Those cufflinks likely tossed.

His place within my heart, though,

Hasn’t ever gotten lost.

 

I wish a Happy Fathers’ Day

To all who fit the bill

And hope, with cufflinks or without,

Somebody’s heart you’ll fill.

In the Gift Shop

In the gift shop of the Met*

I watch to see what people get.

The kids are mostly drawn to toys,

With Lego building sets for boys

 

And for the girls, a teddy bear

Or other stuffies which compare.

Women look at mugs or tees

Or jewelry, all kinds to please,

 

While men check hats or socks or ties,

No need to bother with a size.

For everyone within the store,

Of course, they’re selling books galore.

 

There, naturally, are art supplies -

In a museum, no surprise.

On offer are pastels and clay,

Plus paints and pencils on display.

 

A scarf collection caught my eye,

But mostly I’ll give in and buy

When I’m a tourist; then the urge

For souvenirs will let me splurge.

 

*Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC