Two hundred miles of driving
For tomorrow’s concert date,
Where we’ll watch our grandson play trombone
And get to celebrate.
It’s quite a feather in his cap
To make the state-wide band
And anyone with grandkids
I am sure will understand.
We never know how many
Chances in the years ahead
We might have to make these efforts;
I will leave “until” unsaid.
So we’re rolling on the highway
With our trusty brand-new tires,
Glad to be a part of this event
Before our time expires.
Hooray! It’s time to write a poem
About an
absolute
Disgrace by name
of Kristi Noem,
Who finally
got the boot.
A spotlight-craving
dilettante
Who shot her
dog and goat
Is not the
person most would want
To hold a
job of note.
Yet there she
was, in camo gear,
Like she was
set for war,
Though all
her make-up made it clear
That she was
out for more.
In ad
campaigns she was the star,
With mucho
millions spent,
To showcase
her as Homeland’s czar,
Her failures
evident.
What
bothered me (and maybe you)
The most,
with all she spewed,
Was, more
than what she tried to do,
Her nasty
attitude.
Good riddance,
now; it’s way past time
The reign of
Kristi Noem
Gets its comeuppance, though with rhyme,
She isn’t worth
this poem.
We cling to traditions
And habits
and friends
And gatherings
where
No one
lately attends.
It’s hard to
let go
But how long
one pretends
Things are
just like they were –
Well, that
kind of depends.
If whatever
we cling to
In some way
extends
To those
with whom we share it,
That surely
transcends
Any reason
to lose it.
Still, time’s
flow portends
Letting go
is expected,
Since everything
ends.
A donut requires a dunk
And a stone,
sitting creekside, a plunk.
With the
first, there’s a dip
And the
second, a skip,
Both delightful
as thoughts to have thunk.
What’s left of the snow
Are some
scattershot mounds,
The piles
that from shovels
Stayed way
out of bounds.
I spotted
some toddlers,
In
bright-colored boots,
Attempting
to climb some,
With giggles
and hoots.
What’s
really a pity’s
That old
city snow,
While pristine
when falling
And perfect
to throw,
Turns black
from pollution
And leftover
piles
Elicit
annoyance
Where once
there were smiles.
The melting
has started
And, as it
gets warm,
That
blackness will vanish
And puddles
will form.
Of course,
we’ll remember,
In memory’s
sight,
The
mountains of early snow,
Magically
white.
After being cooped inside
Because of
cold or snow,
A warmer
sunny day demands
You get
outside and go!
Depending on
your lifestyle,
If you leave
to get some air,
You choose a
place to perk you up
And mosey
over there.
One friend
of mine adores the beach,
So she will
take a drive
And hit the
boardwalk for a stroll
To make her
feel alive.
Another
lives in warmer climes
But when she
needs her space,
She hits a
nature sanctuary;
That’s her
go-to place.
And as for
me, when I am drawn
Outside to
take a walk,
I’m happiest
just traipsing on
The sidewalks
of New Yawk.
I waited for the crosstown bus
Forever and
a day.
That may be
an exaggeration,
But it felt that
way.
At least three
dozen people
Were
bemoaning what became
The perfect
opportunity
To find
someone to blame.
To make things
worse, a bus was parked
Right near
where we’d hop on,
Although the
driver, maybe
On a break, was
just plain gone.
At last a
new bus showed and so,
All three
doors had a crowd.
The driver
opened none of them,
The grumbles
getting loud.
When
finally, he made a move,
The front
door opened wide
And access
to the other two
Was out and
out denied.
More
kvetching, but we inched our way
And finally
could board.
I snagged a
seat (not many left),
Which felt
like a reward.
At least it
wasn’t freezing and
I wasn’t
running late,
Yet surely,
it’s a well-known fact
That no one
likes to wait.
