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.
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
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.
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 #*&!
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.
When cleaning out our car, we found
At least a
dozen maps,
The paper
kind you have to fold
And not the
ones on apps.
The New York
state one sat on top,
With Jersey
right below
And then a
Northeast version
With some
places we would go.
Assorted
other versions, based
On driving
trips, were there –
Vermont and
Pennsylvania, Maine
And more of
who knows where.
Sometimes we’d
plan the routes before
We started
on the drive
And highlight
all the highways
We would
travel to arrive.
Once maps
were opened, it was quite
A challenge
just to hold ‘em,
But even
worse was trying,
Single-handed,
to refold ‘em.
We tossed
them all; technology
Has made
them obsolete.
With WAZE at
hand, the memory
Of maps is
bittersweet.
The driver somehow lost control
And caused a
lot of grief.
He ran a
light and witnesses
Looked on in
disbelief.
Two people died
with others hurt,
A terrible
event,
The driver’s
minor injuries
Belying the
extent
Of all the
havoc that he caused
By speeding
through the light.
Though I
admit it’s awful,
The reports
just don’t seem right.
For every
newscast mentioned
That his age
is 81,
Implying
that’s the reason that
There was
such damage done.
If he’d been
57, say,
Or 62 or 3,
We’d never
hear, on news reports,
Just what
his age might be.
A little
postscript – if we blame
His age on
this brash speeder,
How can we
trust (not that I do!)
Our 80 year
old “leader?”
