Went to see an Irish band
For a late St. Patrick’s day
In a little local restaurant
Not very far away.
The fireplace was crackling,
The menu Irish-based,
The Guinness fresh and flowing,
All just perfect for my taste.
The 3 piece combo sang and played
Guitar and pipe and flute.
A banjo and a concertina
Joined the fun, to boot.
We rarely get to do this
But as time makes it advance,
We should grab each opportunity
While we still have the chance.
Years ago, if someone called
And you were not around,
You’d never know about it
‘Til another chance was found.
And then a new invention
Called the answering machine
Allowed a message to be left
For someone not on scene.
The mobile phone changed everything
For data’s always saved -
The date and time of all the calls,
The dreaded ones or craved.
A few are labeled “Scam Alert”
But many sneak on through,
With numbers in your area,
Like someone that you knew.
Yet if a “Missed Call” notice shows
Without a message left,
Assume it was a bogus call
And do not be bereft.
And sometimes, what’s recorded
Will not set your mind at ease,
For I’d rather get a missed call
Than a message in Chinese!
My classes were cancelled
And school kids are home
Because of the holiday
Named in this poem.
No alternate parking,
In New York, at least,
So Muslims can gather
For prayer and feast.
When I was a teacher,
No calendar showed
This holiday, so
No vacation was owed.
Our “melting pot” image
Is surely intact
When days off are given
And how we react
Depends on our views -
Some support; others scoff.
I suspect those who like it, though,
Have the day off.
I am spatially inept;
My brain
just won’t work that way.
That is why
I’ve always kept
Certain
challenges at bay.
For my class’s
Lone Star Quilt,
We have
started now to sew,
Yet my spirits
might soon wilt
As
frustration starts to grow.
Parallelograms
we’ve cut
Out of
fabrics of our choosing.
They’ll be
sewn together, but,
I find it’s
so darn confusing
That some
shapes face left or right,
Like a
mirror image shown
And my brain
puts up a fight,
Causing me
to sweat and moan.
Still, I’ll
keep up and attempt
To complete
this pattern’s look,
Hoping that
I’ll be exempt
From working
strictly by the book.
Not only don’t I have one
But nobody
else I know
Has an A.I.
buddy, or, at least,
Will say
that it is so.
I read a
lengthy article
About these
so-called “friends,”
Which scared
me since it doesn’t seem
That these
are simply trends.
Creators
justify their use
To fill so
many needs –
Companionship,
approval,
Affirmation,
all the seeds
Which we
used to plant and nurture
With a
living, breathing soul,
When actual
relationships
Appeared to
be the goal.
The future
looms in ways to which
I can’t at
all relate,
When real
and artificial beings
Manage to
conflate.
I’m glad
that I won’t be around
When what we
can expect
Is that
everyone will need
Such a companion
to connect.
Of course there were bagpipes
And
kilt-wearing men.
As always,
they marched
Up Fifth
Ave. once again.
The day, bright
and sunny,
Was cold,
plus the wind
Challenged
anyone out there
Who wasn’t
thick-skinned.
I felt for
the students
Parading
without
Warm jackets
or gloves;
They were
frozen, no doubt.
Yet the
smiles were contagious
And so was
the green,
For today we’re
all Irish;
There’s no
in-between.
Which is
why, walking home,
I made one
unplanned stop,
Since tonight
needs some Guinness –
Not just a
wee drop!
A strange thing happens as I age,
Which cannot
be controlled.
I tend to focus,
everywhere,
On people
who are old.
Today, a
doctor’s waiting room,
A check-up
for my eyes,
Was filled
with those so elderly,
From seats
they couldn’t rise.
As names
were called, they shuffled out,
(Our wait
time very wrong!)
But watching
them, I wondered,
Is this
group where I belong?
To get
there, on the bus I sat
As people
moved inside,
With canes
and walkers, hoping
For a seat
unoccupied.
And on TV,
up on the stage,
On Oscar
night, I saw
The older actors
missing
All their
sparkle, once a draw.
When I was
young, I rarely noticed
Seniors within
range,
Yet now,
reluctantly, I see
My view’s
begun to change.
