A coveted bench in the shade,
In my world,
means that I’ve got it made,
For tomorrow
will be, I’m afraid,
Much too
hot, so I wouldn’t have stayed.
But today, I
can watch the parade
On the river,
as boats are displayed
And
attention, of course, must be paid,
To the
pigeons, who visit, dismayed
That I offer
no crumbs in a trade.
Still, I
hope, as my rhymes start to fade,
That my
writing has somehow conveyed
Just how
peaceful is all I’ve surveyed.
I’m very disappointed
The remaining 3 won’t quit,
Since “60 Minutes” took a real
Below-the-belt type hit.
The correspondents who are left
Gave reasons I found lame,
Because we know that long-loved show
Will never be the same.
Presenting a united front
Would make the message clear,
But who am I to give advice
On somebody’s career?
I’m sure they talked amongst themselves*
Though I could only sputtuh
When I heard what they’d decided,
Which was very unlike buttuh.
*Couldn’t resist the Linda Richman reference
(Google her on old Saturday Night Lives)
My skeleton has brittle bones;
That’s what the test reveals,
Another prime example of
What aging often steals.
I could take some injections or
A course of daily pills
To build my bones back, just in case
I suffer any spills.
Though if I manage not to fall,
My bones are working fine.
Still, if I trip and break my hip,
I’ll know the fault is mine.
The quandary I am in is like
A coin toss - tails or heads?
To trust my balance not to fall
Or cave and take the meds?
Right now it’s 50 - 50.
Will my osteoporosis
Leave my no-meds skeleton in peace
Despite my diagnosis?
The tree man toured my property,
Which was at my request.
I wanted some dead branches gone
And figured he knew best.
He put some ribbons ‘round the trunks
Of trees he thought should go,
One big one next to my back door;
I’ll likely tell him “no.”
That tree’s been here before my house;
It’s sturdy, tall and strong
And where it started growing first
Is where it does belong.
Yes, twigs and leaves fall on the roof,
But I don’t have the heart
To have it ripped out from the ground
Where life, for it, did start.
My husband disagrees; he says
To trust the tree man’s eye,
But someone else can hire him
To do it, when I die.
I’m sure I have enough to wear
To last
until I die,
Yet still, I
buy new clothes at times
And you
might wonder why.
Though it
feels good to dress oneself
In something
fresh and cool,
It also
makes the time ahead,
So tightly
wound, unspool.
Since no one
buys a shirt or pants
Believing it
will last
For just a
few appearances
Before one’s
time has passed.
So purchases
become a way
To guarantee
(or hope)
That life
will keep one on its path
And not death’s
slippery slope.
What parents teach their children
Mostly isn’t what they say,
But the way they live their lives
Those children witness every day.
If there’s kindness or there’s anger,
Lack of interest or support,
Kids learn quickly how their parents
May excel or come up short.
Offspring emulate behavior
In their folks that they admire
Or reject some ways of being
They’d be glad to see expire.
As they grow, without their knowing,
They absorb or let dissolve
Certain customs that they live with
As their grown-up selves evolve.
And as they approach adulthood,
They might find, with some surprise,
They’ve become their parents or
The opposite, in their own eyes.
I am very, very, very
Fond of
riding on the ferry.
There’s no
traffic on the river,
So it’s easy
to deliver
All the
riders when expected
From the
boats they have selected.
Up on top,
the ride is breezy,
But in any
seat, it’s easy
To gaze out
at your surroundings
While the
vessel’s leaps and boundings
Take you all
around the city
For a taste
of nitty-gritty.
Passengers
of all persuasions
Ride for
various occasions –
Workers
heading to employment,
Tourist seeking
pure enjoyment.
People-watching
is rewarding.
Check out
strangers while they’re boarding.
Hear the
accents from their nations;
Eavesdrop on
some conversations.
Ditch the
subway, bus or taxi;
Turn your
mini journey maxi
And your
mood from tense to merry.
Hop on board
a New York ferry!
