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

Food for Thought

A fireboat goes zipping by;

A seaplane glides across the sky.

Not many folks around, but I

Am glad to be outside.

 

A group of sparrows swoop and fly

While joggers, on a runner’s high,

Race past, as, with a saddish sigh,

Some elders must decide

 

If they should sit or maybe try

To push ahead, no longer spry.

I understand their reasons why,

The past a faulty guide.

 

The ferry empties. Rules apply

For disembarking; most comply.

My time for heading home is nigh,

My food for thought supplied.

Watching the Parade

The Knicks parade was on TV

And that was close enough for me.

I cannot even blame my age;

I’ve hated crowds at any stage.

 

Yet for the celebrants, most young,

They loved it all, to be among

Their fellow fans, all there to cheer

Their favorite moment of the year.

 

To see their heroes and unite,

No politics, which might incite

Divisiveness, so very wrong

When fans all seem to get along.

 

The festive spirit will not last,

For from examples in the past,

We know it isn’t “if” but “when”

Hostilities will rise again.

Puzzling

Puzzles will appeal to me

When words are what you need

To solve them; then, most likely,

I’ve a good chance to succeed.

 

A tough crossword or acrostic

Sets a challenge I enjoy,

For it taps into the brain cells

That I often do employ.

 

Yet once numbers are involved,

I’m simply clueless and so lost

That it isn’t worth the failure

And frustration it has cost.

 

Give me Shuffalos and Spelling Bees;

I’ll take that letter path

But don’t try to steer me to the route

Which travels using math.

In Lane

Way back when, I learned to read

And I was super proud, indeed,

When, with my new-expanded brain,

I read the road sign, “Stay in lane.”

 

Of course, I didn’t get that sign.

I thought it should say, “Stay in line.”

My dad, the driver, set me straight,

An easy fix to navigate.

 

My reading’s helped me all these years,

But not so much when switching gears,

For in this world of tech galore,

I’m not as smart as once before.

 

There’s much I do not understand

And language not at my command,

So I am stymied when I try –

My reading skills do not apply.

 

I guess that long-ago advice

That I first read must now suffice,

For with computers, it is plain

That I have ventured past my lane.

Anchors

My husband vacuums; I write poems.

Both anchor us each day

And neither one is necessary;

That’s what most would say.

 

We all have our routines, though,

Things we really seem to need,

So we also daily exercise

And take the time to read.

 

That feeling of accomplishment

Is an important must

And it doesn’t matter what it’s from,

Including rhymes or dust.

The Knicks' Victory

I’m in a slight poetic fix,

For surely it’s expected

That I will write about the Knicks

Or else be disrespected.

 

See, for me, this team is local

So my loyalty is due,

Though no cheering, loud and vocal,

From my voice will come on through.

 

I’ll watch tennis games for hours

And some baseball here and there,

But it’s not within my powers,

Citing basketball, to care.

 

Still, to hear a drought has ended,

Fifty-three long years of thirst,

Revelry must be extended

As that pent-up joy’s dispersed.

 

New York City’s set and ready

For the ticker-tape parade

And the sky will rain confetti,

All poetic doubts to fade.