My grandma hid her feelings
So by looking at her face,
You couldn’t pinpoint anger
Or if something was off-base.
If she were hurt or worried
Or perturbed, you couldn’t tell,
For her emotions she kept
Tucked inside so very well.
Though I am quite the opposite,
Since all I feel’s unfurled
And plastered on my face
So anybody in the world
Could take one look and wonder
Why I’m ticked off as can be.
I wish my grandma’s genes
Had gotten passed along to me.
Early morning, Carl Schurz Park,
And something caught my eye.
Right near my foot, a snail was
Inching forward, my oh my!
For surely someone on the path
Would crush his lovely shell;
Protection-wise, it really didn’t
Serve him very well.
I found a leaf and hoped he’d crawl
Upon it; what I’d planned
Was to move him to a place both safe
And on some grassy land.
A stranger saw me crouching down
And asked was I okay.
I pointed to the snail and thought
He’d soon be on his way.
But “Let me help” was what he said.
He lifted up the leaf
And found the perfect placement
Which, to all, was a relief.
He asked my name and shook my hand;
Our goodbye smiles agreed
That, by noticing the small things,
We’d both done a real good deed.
The Summer Arts Intensive,*
Just in
session for a week,
Put on a
concert which was both
Amazing and
unique.
The
students, playing instruments
From brass
and winds to strings
Or vocals,
had the chance to shine
And test
their new-found wings.
My grandson,
one of the trombonists
In the group
for jazz,
Performed
with lots of confidence
And plenty
of pizzazz.
Eight
various ensembles
Got to show what
they could do,
Their joy
onstage (and those of the
Instructors)
there on view.
To hear the
music that they made,
With so much
drive and skill,
Was proof
such opportunity
Provides the
means to thrill.
For, much as
we, the audience,
Felt delight
we could not hide,
The faces of
the ones on stage
Revealed their
hard-won pride.
*Held at the
Conservatory of Music
at Purchase College
of New York
My grandchild and a friend
Were making posters in her room,
With tape and markers, for a project,
As you might presume.
From time to time, somebody asked
The spelling of a word,
And I should not have been surprised
At all by what I heard.
“Alexa, how do you spell this?”
Or “How do you spell that?”
It’s good to have an answer ready
In your habitat.
When I was young, our choices were
A dictionary or
A shout-out to whatever mom
Was near to call out for.
I guess there was another choice,
Which would work then or now -
To sound it out and take a chance
You spelled it right somehow.
The city’s filled with scaffolds;
They remain in place for years.
They’re ugly and at night they might
Increase somebody’s fears
For they provide some shelter
From the elements for those
Who don’t have a place to live;
Hey, that’s just the way it goes.
They block the sidewalks, making it
Too narrow to walk past
When someone is approaching
If you both are going fast.
The smell of urine’s often strong -
That shelter thing again.
I guess the ease of access is
Too tempting for some men.
I think most urban dwellers
Think that scaffolds are a pain,
But with one exception - if you’ve no
Umbrella in the rain.
When I moved from my parents’ house,
I really couldn’t wait
To start my life; the leaving was
A cause to celebrate.
A memory occurs to me:
When I approached my mom
To tell her of my plans to move,
I’d not expected calm.
I’d practiced in my head the things
That I had planned to say
When she would protest, practically
Demanding that I stay.
Instead, she offered me my bed
And dishes, pans and pots.
To realize she was ready, too,
Well, just connect the dots.
I liked my folks; we got along,
Yet it was time to split.
I had a job and never
Second-guessed things, not a bit.
Today it seems that, more and more,
Kids don’t renounce their claim
On their childhood homes and that, to me,
Is really quite a shame.
If you’re very lucky, you may find
The type of handyman
Who can take care of the problems
That you now no longer can.
Climb a ladder to the roof? No prob -
It’s what he likes to do
And while up there, he will clean
The cloudy skylights, just for you.
Clogged up gutters? With some gloves
He’ll scoop out leaves and dirt and gunk,
Staying cheerful through it all.
(I know that I’d be in a funk.)
When he’s finished, he will lowball
What he thinks that you should pay.
Do you know of anybody else
Who’d act in that same way?
Handy Randy is this person
Who is capable and fair
And reliable and really nice,
These attributes so rare.
