The Coat Check Line

We waited for the coat check

Since our winter garb is bulky

And schlepping it around could make

Us feel a little sulky.

 

The Met was far from crowded

Yet the line was barely crawling.

We inched along impatiently;

As members, it was galling.

 

At last we made it to the front;

No claim checks were presented.

Instead, you tapped your number

On a keypad; none dissented.

 

When we were set to leave,

After a lovely afternoon,

We lined up once again,

Our crawl repeating much too soon.

 

But as we zipped our jackets up,

I noticed that adjacent

To the line we left was one where

Not one person was impatient.

 

For it was meant for members,

Which describes our situation.

Had we known about it sooner,

We’d have saved some aggravation.

Six More Weeks

Both Punxsutawney Phil

And local Staten Island Chuck

Saw their shadows which, on Groundhog Day,

Means we are out of luck.

 

It seems that winter will be here

For 6 more weeks, at least,

If you believe predictions made

By this forecasting beast.

 

Supposedly, this got its start

When Pennsylvania Dutch

Marked Candlemas as “Badger Day”

And it remained as such

 

Since 1886, when if

A badger left its den

And sunshine cast its shadow,

Spring would not be seen again

 

For 4 more weeks (though now it’s 6),

Which might cause disbelief;

Though with this cold, an ending date

Would be a great relief!

Cocky

In tennis, the players

Whom I am embracing

Are those who are, most

Of the time, self-effacing.

 

They might crack a smile

If they make a great shot

Or give a huge shout,

But one thing they are not

 

Is cocky, encouraging

Fans to applaud.

To me, that’s behavior

Obnoxious and flawed.

 

Some beckon with hand signals:

“Give me some praise!”

Or grab both their ears

For some louder displays.

 

It reminds me of someone,

You’ll surely surmise,

Who demands to be handed

A Nobel Peace prize.

 

For those most deserving

Of tributes to bask in

Are those who would never

Sink low and start askin’.

A Mountain of Snow

Next to our car is a mountain of snow,

Which has frozen as hard as a rock.

Ours isn’t the only one locked in, although

It’s the worst one around the whole block.

 

We’re parked on the side where the plows seemed to push

All the snow that was blocking the street

And because of the freeze, what should turn into mush

Has instead made our blockade complete.

 

We have nowhere to go and can get to the train

When we need to help out with the grands,

So on 89^th Street, our poor car will remain

For as long as the weather demands.

 

We’ve been through this before, but it’s been a few years

Since we’ve dealt with both snow and such cold

And my husband and I, plus our car, it appears,

Feel the mileage we’ve gained taking hold.

The Ferry Suspension

They suspended the ferry

And blamed it on ice.

With weather so frigid, 

Those grounds should suffice.

The notice described 

The East River, which goes

North or south, both directions

Obstructed by floes.

The fleet is aluminum,

Making it tough 

To navigate safely

With waters so rough.

I don’t take it often,

But those who commute 

Must be wishing this ice

Will be given the boot.

Which is just like the hope

Minnesotans possess,

For both versions of ICE

Cause incredible stress.

Everybody’s Taste

 A pretzel goes with mustard

Like a bagel goes with cheese

And meals must end with something sweet

In order to appease.

French fries should not have ketchup,

But for burgers, it’s a must

And ice cream filled with chocolate chunks

Leaves others in the dust.

My choices might not mesh with yours,

For everybody’s taste

Depends on how and where we’re raised

And foods we have embraced.

Yet each of us has favorites

And that sets us all apart.

Let’s unite with some strong coffee

And a well-made Linzer tart!

Extremes

I’m watching the Australian Open;

The players are battling heat.

With temps running high,

No one needs to ask why

Many athletes just wilt in defeat.

 

Yet outside my well-heated apartment,

It’s way below freezing this week.

To venture out there

Every item I wear

Has been chosen for weather this bleak.

 

I’d rather be colder than warmer,

Though I don’t like either extreme;

But in Melbourne, I’d bet,

While competitors sweat,

They must also be losing some steam.