Munchies

Time for a beer, which means time for a snack,
And that equals something with salt.
The choices are endless, 'cause so many things
Will complement your choice of malt.

Some people like pretzels and others choose chips
And peanuts may be someone's choice;
Popcorn or cashews or cheese may provide
An outlet for each drinker's voice.

Doritos puts out a delectable mix
Called "Munchies: Cheese Fix" and it has
Cheetos, Doritos, Rold Gold and Sun Chips,
A combo of salsa and jazz.

It sure hits the spot; it's delicious and too,
It delivers a wallop of taste.
The flavors combined are both salty and sweet,
And none of it will go to waste.

Yet, still, I've a favorite; my husband does, too,
And both of our choices the same;
So next time we should buy a bag of just those,
And stop with the Munchie-time game.

Most likely we won't, though - we do like the mix.
It's tasty and you get to choose
The various flavors you want to consume
As you're guzzling down all your booze.

So thanks, Frito-Lay, for the snacks you provide;
They're yummy and really a treat,
And afternoons when I indulge in a beer,
I'll be glad I have Munchies to eat.

Drips

Have you ever looked down at your shirt or your pants
And noticed some glaring new stains?
You think to yourself - I enjoyed what I ate
Yet I'm sorry to see its remains.

I try to be careful when eating a meal
Or consuming a treat or some snacks,
But once in a while, I let down my guard
And can see all my diligence lacks.

For there on my pants are two neon pink drips;
Must be from my raspberry cone.
I thought I was careful but obviously,
I'd entered the slob-ID zone.

I'm sure there are plenty who know what I mean -
You've dripped olive oil or some sauce;
It's always a splotch that will never come out -
A food that will show you who's boss.

So you dab it with water, scrub it with soap,
Use Clorox from bottle or pen,
And finally shrug and admit your defeat -
An article ruined again.

You vow you will never repeat this mistake,
You carefully lean on your plate,
But something distracts you and here come the drips -
It's hard to compete against fate.

There must be some people who learn to steer clear
Of all food that can cause such a drip,
But I'm not among them and I wish they'd share
Their clean-as-a-whistle-type tip.

Most likely, they're skinny and proper and prim
And almost compulsively neat;
But their secret, of course, that the world does not know,
Is that they never let themselves eat!

Dilemma

So I'm up here in Maine,
In my fancy hotel,
And, although we're far north,
It's still hotter than hell.

I packed my long pants,
My trusty warm fleece,
But the sun's beating down -
Will this heat ever cease?

The room that I'm in
Has a terrace so grand
That the ocean below me
Seems at my command.

So here's my dilemma:
The room has A/C,
But the terrace, though hot,
Has been calling to me.

It's right on the ocean
And there are some trees,
So though it is 90,
There is quite a breeze.

I'll stick to the outside,
'Cause it's such a treat;
I'll savor the vista,
Put up with the heat.

It should cool off later
But if it does not,
I will not complain,
Even if I feel hot.

'Cause when I'm back home
And I step in the door,
I'll dream of this view
While my A/C does roar!

View

Sitting on the terrace,
Looking at the lake,
You could think that life's a breeze,
A yummy piece of cake.

Mountains in the distance,
Trees as green as felt;
Sky so blue and sun so strong,
Anxieties should melt.

Lovely just to sit here
And read or just reflect.
Such a peaceful respite,
Much more than I'd expect.

'Cause it's only briefly
We're privy to such views.
Most of life we do not get
To look at what we choose.

I'll sit here and enjoy it
And soak it up today,
Before reality sets in
And takes it all away.

Top Down

Crawling traffic, SUV's,
Station wagons, minivans,
Loaded up with family stuff -
Bicycles and soda cans.

Cars are silver, gray, or black,
Maybe blue or gold or white;
Windows closed and A/C blasting -
Slower traffic keep to right.

Suddenly a red car passes,
Driver looks relaxed and cool.
He's in his convertible -
Of all the cars, man, his does rule!

Nothing else looks near as special.
With the top down, it's the best.
All the rest of us are thinking,
Dig that car - I am impressed!

We could all drive top-down roadsters,
If we'd let ourselves go free;
But just a chosen few are willing
To indulge that fantasy.

So we watch the red cars zipping,
Drivers with their wind-blown hair.
We could be the same as they are,
But the truth is - we don't dare!

Newborns

This is the season of newborns;
Today alone I counted five.
You suddenly realize that each day
So many more humans arrive.

They look so pathetic and helpless;
Of course, they are also quite cute.
To see that their parents are beaming,
You don’t have to be so astute.

Who knows what these babies are thinking?
Are they missing the warmth of the womb?
They’re like little seedlings you water and tend,
So someday they’ll burst forth and bloom.

But meanwhile they sleep, stare, or suckle.
They grab on a finger and cling;
And passersby smile and remember
All the hope that a newborn can bring.

I want to advise these new parents
And hope that my wisdom will stick:
Enjoy every minute, so precious,
‘Cause babyhood’s over real quick.

And childhood will follow, believe me;
Your baby will soon disappear,
Replaced by a new improved version
Who’ll move further away every year.

So hold him or her very tightly
And savor his place on your breast,
‘Cause someday, before you’re quite ready,
You’ll find you’re alone in your nest.

Found Money

In a backpack I found,
On the closet floor,
There was quite a cache
I could not ignore.

No, it wasn’t drugs,
Nothing really strange,
Just a folded twenty
And a hunk of change.

It was mostly quarters,
So I took a count:
Thirty dollars, plus,
Was the found amount.

Well, to be exact,
Also thirty cents,
And a few more coins,
Which were English pence.

The bag wasn’t mine,
Though I’ve claimed the cash.
Losers weepers if
You forget your stash.

It amazes me
How one’s attitude
Can diverge from that
Which your folks have hewed.

For I always know
Where my money’s gone;
Such a trove would be
A phenomenon.

But to each his own;
I have found my niche.
It I clean some more,
I may yet be rich!

Fake

A story I once read in school
Described a woman – what a fool!
Who threw her life away – for what?
To try to be what she was not.

Her husband got an invitation
For a ball, above their station;
She spent all they did possess
To buy herself a special dress.

But that was not enough for her;
She couldn’t leave things as they were.
She borrowed from a wealthy friend
A necklace, so she could pretend

She owned the diamonds at her throat.
She felt so good it made her gloat;
But at night’s end, the gems were lost –
She paid in years for what it cost.

She didn’t tell her friend the truth,
But sacrificed her health and youth;
Took twenty years to pay her debt,
Her life consumed by her regret.

The twist we learn, at the conclusion,
Is that truth is an illusion;
Though her suffering was real,
Her friend, years later, does reveal

The diamonds were just made of paste.
All her toiling was a waste.
How ironic, when we learn
It’s sometimes better not to yearn.

I thought about this tale because
A necklace purchased gave me pause.
I’ll wear it, but make no mistake,
I’m proud to say my choker’s fake!

Getting a Joker

In Mah Jongg, if the hand you get
Appears quite mediocre,
It can all get turned around
If you receive a joker.

This tile, so rare and magical,
Can function like a spark
To give you some direction
When you’re groping in the dark.

A joker’s a replacement piece
For every tile you need,
Unless it’s to complete a pair –
I don’t want to mislead.

But still, it’s wonderful to pick
A joker from the pile,
Although you must stay poker-faced
And not reveal a smile.

It’s like a secret weapon
As it sits there on your rack;
Despite its innocence
It helps you plan for your attack.

It’s possible to win, of course,
Without a joker’s aid,
And when that happens you deserve
An extra accolade.

But more than not, it feels so good
To glance down at your pick
And see a joker in your hand –
You line it up, real slick;

And hope that it will help you win,
At least one measly game,
So next time you can be the one
Who “Mah Jongg!” will exclaim.

Doing the Laundry

Washer, dryer, tumble dry;
Then it’s time to fold.
Quick, before the wrinkles come –
Too awful to behold.

Pile in piles – yours and mine;
Towels, washcloths, sheets.
Snap and smooth and fold real sharp,
Continue with repeats.

Everything is clean and fresh,
Awaiting its next wearing;
Gone are clotheslines when apparel
Got an outside airing.

Now those outdoor scents are fake.
We much prefer the dryer;
Though the laundry room does cause
The folders to perspire.

If you send your laundry out,
You’re modern, rushed and young;
And if you have your own machine,
You’re on a higher rung.

But if you have a laundry room
Or worse, a trip outside,
You know what I’m referring to,
My grievance justified.

So once a week, or maybe more,
We load and wait and fold;
The chore of doing laundry
Leaves not much to be extolled.

GPS

When you are lost, it really helps
If you have GPS.
It calms you down and steers you right
And takes away your stress.

I do not have it yet myself
But oft hear of its wonders;
It gets you back on track and helps
To minimize your blunders.

Tonight, while driving home
We’d given somebody a lift,
And we got lost but her new phone
Had GPS – a gift!

She told us calmly where to turn
And soon we found our way.
The marvels of technology
Completely saved the day.

I think that GPS may be
Well worth whate’er the cost,
Especially for those of us
Who sometimes do get lost.

Bargain

When something is a bargain,
You really want to buy it;
Though it’s what you do not need,
Of course you will deny it.

But it’s on sale, reduced by half –
Come see it for yourself!
It’s true, but if it were full price,
You’d leave it on the shelf.

A bargain really isn’t one
If you don’t really need it.
Some people have that discount bug
And just can’t wait to feed it.

So next time something is on sale,
No matter if it’s nice,
Think before you purchase –
Would you buy it at full price?

If you say no, then think again;
Don’t give in to that urge,
And wait ‘til you find what you love,
Then pay full price and splurge!

Pestilence

If you had a choice, would you rather have lice
Or bedbugs or roaches or ants, rats or mice?
Whatever the pest, it would really be nice
To get rid of them all – doesn’t matter the price.
Until that day comes, what would really suffice
Is to shut up about them all – that’s my advice!

Salmonella

Don’t eat eggs! We’re being warned;
You may get salmonella.
To know which eggs are poison,
You might ask a fortune teller.

I remember when they told us
Spinach was the felon;
Ditto for pistachios
And even types of melon.

Bite a burger, undercooked,
E-Coli might be lurking;
Antibodies in our blood
Will soon be overworking.

We’ve been told that mayonnaise
Turns evil in the heat;
Picnic food must be kept cold
Or it’s not safe to eat.

With each admonition
We learn what we should avoid;
It’s quite understandable
To feel quite paranoid.

You can try to play it safe
And bypass raw or rare;
Sushi lovers will defy advice
And take the dare.

But even if you’re cautious
And reject some foods you like,
There may be some bacteria
That will sneak in and strike.

The Best Laid Plans

The best laid plans of men and mice
Cannot be guaranteed;
No matter if you pay the price
Or grovel, beg or plead.

Fate wreaks havoc when it can
And messes with your mind;
From ever since our lives began,
That’s how things are designed.

The maps you’ve used to plot your course,
The details you’ve arranged,
May leave you filled with such remorse
When everything gets changed.

The reasons vary: sickness, weather,
Accidents or death;
We must keep our act together
Calmly, breath by breath.

For though our disappointment’s keen,
We have to count each blessing.
Our head’s not on the guillotine;
There’s no real cause for stressing.

Plans can be remade –
Another day or month or season;
And sometimes they’re delayed
For what appears an unknown reason.

But we’re not meant to understand
The quirkiness of fate,
Which takes the plans that we have planned
And makes them all deflate.

So do not suffer in defeat;
Just take another tack.
Grab your sorrows – hit “delete”
And you’ll be back on track.

Forty Years

Forty years of therapy
Seems quite a bit excessive.
Even Freud himself might find
That overly obsessive.

She who wrote about it found
It did define her life,
More so than reporter, mother,
Student, friend or wife.

I related to her treatment
As a practicing neurotic,
But thought of her dependence
As akin to a narcotic.

For therapy, the talking cure,
Eventually should end.
Staying in forever
Isn’t what they recommend.

You have to learn to leave the nest,
To spread your wings and fly;
And therapists should do their part
So patients will comply.

For most of us, our therapy
Enabled us to grow,
Accepting the imperfect selves
We didn’t want to show.

But once we recognized that life
Is harsh and tough and cruel,
We learned that in the scheme of things,
Our angst was miniscule.

Our transference complete,
We bid farewell to every shrink;
And did our best to live our lives
A distance from the brink.

I hope that author can succeed
Without her lifelong crutch,
For only then will she feel free
Of Freud’s addictive clutch.

The Pool

Into the pool the people go:
Young and old, fast and slow;
Thin and fat, fatter yet –
In one second, dripping wet.

Splashing, paddling and kicking,
Hair to foreheads weirdly sticking.
Stroking, breathing, swimming laps –
Stay in lane – avoid stray taps.

Dunking, bouncing, water treading;
Screams of kids cause headache-getting.
Lifeguards’ warnings whistle loudly;
Divers show off dives so proudly.

Everybody, hit the pool!
Stay outside and feel the fool.
I, though, choose to lounge and read;
Maybe I’m a fool indeed.

If, perhaps, you wonder why –
Simply put, I’m happy dry!

Nature

I always thought, to get their prey,
Raptors swooped down, diving;
Silently and sneakily
Announcing their arriving.

But just today, I saw a hawk
Float down in slow descent,
Looking like a parachute
Whose airtime had been spent.

It gently landed on the ground,
Its talons set to grasp
The mouse which, snatched, in its surprise,
Had barely time to gasp.

I watched that mousy mouthful
As the hawk chomped and devoured,
And wondered, as it ate,
If hunting made it feel empowered.

Or was its prey equivalent
To stopping at the store?
A means to fill the belly,
A simple must-do chore?

I guess there is no way to know,
But Nature has provided
Each creature with the means to feed
'Til hunger has subsided

I'm glad that I don't have to hunt
Except in market aisles,
Though I admire hawks and such
Their Nature-programmed styles.

Proficiency

Anything is easy
If you know what you are doing.
Things you've trained for flow along,
Like breathing or like chewing.

Plumbers plumb and dentists drill
And doctors practice healing.
Gardeners plant and typists type
And robbers work at stealing.

Policemen police and actors act;
Chefs cook and dancers dance.
You can be proficient
If you only have the chance.

But better stick to what you know
Until you've got the training.
Practice helps 'til you excel
At skills you've been retaining.

Until that time, you're better off
With experts there to hire;
Let someone who knows his stuff
Do what your jobs require.

Each of us can claim to be
Proficient at some skill,
But still admire expertise
In which our training's nil.

Peripheral Vision

You're in a store or on a street
And suddenly, you glance
An old friend or acquaintance
Who begins that eyeball dance.

The person quickly turns away,
Intent on seeming busy;
And so you rack your brain,
Your thoughts creating quite a tizzy.

You try to recollect a name
And wonder at the snub.
You think you're innocent or are you?
Aye, that is the rub!

Perhaps it's nothing - someone
Doesn't feel like a hello.
Pretending not to see you
Seems to be the way to go.

But that is quite pathetic
Though, depending on your goal,
If you think you're invisible,
You do not fool a soul.

For all our eyes are well-equipped
With sideways-seeing vision;
Ignoring what we see, of course,
Is everyone's decision.

But do not think your getaway's
Been anything but lame,
'Cause you've been spotted, though of course
I'll join you in your game.

Our Best

Sometimes life is like a test
But we can’t really study.
We can only do our best
And hope things don’t get muddy.

Everyone must make mistakes
Despite our good intentions;
Being perfect will not fit
Inside preset dimensions.

Life keeps changing; so do we,
But all that we can do
Is muddle through the best we can
And hope the hurts are few.

Worrying won’t help at all.
We should give it a rest;
And keep on living day to day
By giving it our best.

Carrying Water

Years ago, we walked about
In heat, humidity or drought,
And if we felt excessive thirst,
We got a drink and it reversed.

Even in the scorching city,
When you felt so parched and gritty,
Thirsty thoughts would oft persist;
Poland Springs did not exist.

If you were in need of drink,
A soda’d pull you from the brink;
Or some Kool-Aid, served ice-cold
But drunk at home, not as you strolled.

Why then, have things changed so much?
Bottled water’s such a crutch.
Most can’t leave their home without it;
Look around in case you doubt it.

Have our bodies gotten weak
So instant quenching’s what we seek?
Long ago, we could have waited
For our thirst to be abated.

But today, we have to tote
Some water to slide down our throat
In case we feel the slightest thirst –
For goodness, that would be the worst!

I’ve joined the club – my H2O
Is with me everywhere I go.
In some past life, I’ll bet I’ve been
Some version of a Gunga Din!

Museum Shop

Whenever I’m in a museum,
Both local and on a vacation,
I have to leave time for the gift shop,
A cannot-miss-out destination.

I skip past the books, though they’re lovely,
And focus on trinkets and stuff:
The postcards and vases and posters;
To choose just one thing’s often tough.

I linger the longest on jewelry:
The earrings, the bracelets, the rings,
The necklaces, watches and brooches –
The promise of joy each one brings.

I don’t always buy, though I want to.
I’m able to sometimes resist;
Though later, at home, I’m regretting
That one special object I missed.

In faraway shops, I’m more likely
To splurge on a sweet souvenir;
It’s hard in a New York museum
To treat myself, when I’m from here.

Yet once in a while, I’m indulgent
And never feel it’s a mistake.
The gift shop inside a museum
Is icing on top of the cake!

Dead Deer

Traffic stopped moving; everything slowed
To look at the deer on the side of the road.

It appeared that the creature’d been recently killed;
Its fast pumping heart had been suddenly stilled.

I wonder, as it took its ultimate dash
If it saw its life zipping by all in a flash;

Or if, in its brain, it was quite unaware
That some danger could even be waiting right there.

I hope for its sake, it’s the second named choice
And death, to that deer, had no form and no voice.

Perhaps in its mind, in the midst of a leap,
It suddenly found itself smack into sleep;

The cars crawling by in a slow, steady stream
All playing a part in that doe’s final dream.

Renewal

My library book’s not nearly done;
I haven’t close to finished.
I’m deep into the story now,
My interest undiminished.

I tried renewing – they said no,
Somebody has reserved it.
That person’s gonna be let down,
Although she’d not deserved it.

For here’s my choice: to give it back
And never know the ending,
Or pay the fine and violate
The contract tied to lending.

I’ll pay a daily quarter,
Though my record it will spoil,
So I’ll be able to complete
The latest Roddy Doyle.

They used to give three weeks to read
And now it’s down to two;
When life is busy, time slips by –
There’s nothing I can do.

So future reader, please forgive –
Your book will be returned;
And meanwhile, patience is a virtue
Hopefully, you’ve learned.

That's The Way It Goes

When I complain, my husband says,
“Well, that’s the way it goes.”
That statement doesn’t help
But has some wisdom, I suppose.

Complaining doesn’t solve a thing,
But it feels good to vent;
Perhaps preventing kvetching
Is my husband’s sole intent.

Yet “That’s the way it goes”
Is not an answer I can grab;
Instead of getting comfort,
I’ve received a little jab.

So here’s a message to my spouse
And all of likewise mind:
Complaining is a right enjoyed
By all of humankind.

And some complaints are well-deserved,
As everybody knows;
For those, we shouldn’t have to hear,
“Well, that’s the way it goes.”

Waiting for Confirmation

I registered for courses –
You’d think they’d be online –
But snail mail is the way they go,
And usually, it’s fine.

My friends all got responses.
They’ve gotten all their classes;
And I am getting more upset
As more and more time passes.

I sent my form in promptly;
I hate to blame the mail.
I called the office and they wouldn’t
Check the paper trail.

There’s not a thing that I can do
But sit around and wait,
And hope a positive response
Will soon be on my plate.

Grim Encounter

On an early morning walk,
Adjacent to the river,
I passed a hooded figure
That elicited a shiver.

He, or she, sat on a bench –
I only saw his back –
Yet New York sensors in my brain
Said, “Something’s out of whack.”

The day was hot and humid,
Even at that early hour,
So seeing a black sweatshirt
Made my inner wuss just cower.

He looked like Death, seen from behind,
I noticed with alarm;
And in my paranoia,
I felt he exuded harm.

I passed him both ways on my walk,
Both going and returning;
He hadn’t budged, though part of me
Wished that his head was turning.

For curiosity cropped up.
I yearned to see his face;
But thinking that he might well turn,
I hurried up my pace.

It’s sometimes better, as they say,
For sleeping dogs to lie,
And so I heeded that advice
And simply walked on by.

Buying a Gift

There is often an occasion
When a present is required,
But to purchase something perfect
Is a skill I’ve not acquired.

For it really should be something
Rather special and unique,
Often waiting to be spotted
In a local hip boutique.

But you take a chance to buy it
Where it cannot be returned.
The recipient might hate it –
That’s a lesson I have learned.

Better, then, to search and locate
In a trusty big-name store,
Just the item that you’re hoping
The givee might well adore.

If she doesn’t, there’s no harm done;
She’ll return what you did get ‘er –
And, with gift receipt in hand,
She’ll pick out something she likes better.

Though I really hope my gifts
Are worth the effort I extend,
It’s the thought that really counts,
Especially to a good friend.

Drip

When I sleep with the windows wide open,
A rare summer night – no A/C,
The noises put out by the city
Come wafting nine floors up to me.

I don’t mind the taxis or buses –
Folks need to be taking those trips –
There’s only one noise that can drive me insane:
That’s the hammering dripping of drips.

Above me, the tenth floor apartment
Has the A/C cranked up to full blast;
I do not begrudge them their comfort,
But my sanity’s vanishing fast.

For their unit lets loose, like a heartbeat,
A drip uncontrolled, like a sneeze;
It reminds me of some water torture
Someone said was used by the Chinese.

For the drip-drip-drip-drip is incessant;
There’s never a pause or a break.
It’s now three o’clock in the morning,
And I’m lying in bed, wide awake.

The city’s not known for its quiet;
That’s not why I live in its grip.
I’ll sacrifice space, calm, and comfort,
If only there wasn’t this drip!

School Supplies

You know the summer’s over
When you see before your eyes,
Ads in all the papers
Advertising school supplies.

Get your notebooks! Paper! Pens!
Book bags! Markers! Tape!
Everywhere you look,
You are bombarded - no escape!

Be the first one in your class
To fill your teacher’s list!
If it feels too early,
All your doubts should be dismissed.

‘Cause once the stores have school supplies,
The summer’s at an end.
Since it’s hot as blazes still,
It’s hard to comprehend.

Advertisers like to move things up,
But I remember
Years ago, when Christmas lights
Were put up in December.

And school supplies were not on sale
‘Til close to Labor Day.
We cherished the illusion
That real life was far away.

But now we have a short reprieve
And then it’s time to plan
For getting back into the groove –
Forget about your tan.

I’m not a student any more
And do not even teach,
Yet ads for school supplies
Can leave me yearning for the beach!