The Post-Event Dinner

At the post-bar mitzvah dinner,

At a table with my son,

Husband, daughter, sibs and spouses,

Tales from memories were spun.

There were certain disagreements 

‘Bout the way that things occurred,

But we laughed at all the tellings, 

Every version getting heard.

When the meal was nearly over,

We were joined, and what a joy!

By the star attraction of the day -

The proud bar mitzvah boy.

(By the way, he’s still a boy to me,

Though passing me in height.

I know he’s technically a man,

But nanas have that right.)

He joined in our camaraderie,

Each anecdote a peek

At the younger selves of relatives

He’d never thought to seek.

Some logic puzzles followed 

And his sister joined the crowd,

Intrigued by all the laughter

And where cursing was allowed.

A perfect ending to a day

Of magic, unsurpassed -

A circle joining ancient rites,

The future and the past.

Henry’s Big Day

The family was gathered

To be there and show support,

And now it’s almost over

So I’ll turn in my report.

To watch a child you’ve known since birth 

Take center stage and shine 

Is more than one can hope for,

Yet this grandson’s really mine.

Though he was nervous (so he claimed),

There was no way to tell,

For he handled every aspect of

The services so well.

His readings, most in Hebrew,

Were delivered loud and strong,

His confidence apparent

When his voice was raised in song.

And then his speech! Amazing!

Filled with thoughts reflective of

The expansive mind and sense of humor

Everyone must love.

Emotions bubbled up inside 

In ways I can’t convey,

But I’m oh, so grateful I was part

Of Henry’s special day.

Given the Chance

When a distance of hundreds of miles 

Keeps you far from some kith and kin smiles,

If you’re given the chance 

To reduce that expanse,

Take advantage whatever your styles.

Take a plane or a train or a car 

(Guess depending on how far you are)

And don’t try to complain

If on memory lane

You find all doors and windows ajar.

You may laugh ‘til you think you might pee

And be shocked at how much you agree.

Take it in and enjoy,

Letting nothing annoy,

For who knows when the next time will be.

A Minor Gripe

With all the worries people have

About A.I., so scary,

I have a grip against it, too,

But mine’s quite ordinary.

 

When I am texting or online

With email or just writing,

I’ll start a sentence, then some words

Appear, my wrath igniting.

 

For mostly, they are not the ones

That I would have selected,

Although they are the ones A.I.

Had obviously expected.

 

At first, it just annoyed me;

Now it’s filling me with rage,

For I deserve control of thoughts

I transfer to the page.

 

Of all there is to moan about

In how we live today,

I realize this is minor,

But at least I’ve had my say.

 

If politics won’t bring you down

(If not, I wonder why),

Then maybe we can all unite

And kvetch about A.I.

When a Big Event Approaches

When a big event approaches

That you’ve worked towards and awaited,

The kind that needs your loved ones near

As it is celebrated,

 

It’s natural to feel anxious,

Hoping all will go as planned,

As anyone who’s been there

Will be sure to understand.

 

There must be some who smoothly

Take preparing in their stride,

Who do what needs their input,

Cool and calm personified.

 

That’s not me, however, as

The opposite’s more fitting,

With stress and pure anxiety

The foes I’m not outwitting.

 

Yet as the day gets closer,

I know all my preparation

Will allow me to let go and

Revel in the celebration.

Grossed Out

Living in the city,

I’m aware of where I walk.

If surroundings raise my hackles,

All my senses start to balk.

 

So I really was astounded

When I glanced down at my shoe

And I realized that I’d somehow

Stepped into a pile of poo.

 

It’s been years since this has happened

And I’m grossed out to the max,

Knowing that until I’ve cleaned it off,

I really can’t relax.

 

I’ll accept the blame for missing

What an owner didn’t scoop,

But I’m angry that so many dogs

Are free to leave their poop

 

Anywhere they feel like squatting

So the sidewalks reek of it

And when owners are too lazy,

You, like me, can step in #*&!

East River Fish

The fisherman was tugging

On the line; he had a bite.

And just as I was passing him,

He pulled with all his might.

 

A good-sized fish was hooked

And flopped around where it was dropped,

Its life in the East River,

In that sudden motion, stopped.

 

I caught the eye of someone

With her dog, who saw the catch.

I asked if she would eat it;

Our opinions clearly matched.

 

Despite what’s in the river, though,

I knew, for sure, that fish

Would be proudly served for supper

On that fisherman’s best dish.