Photo I.D.

I once received two tickets
(My license was required)
Because the card I gave the cop
Had long ago expired.

Though stopped for turning from a lane
I shouldn’t have been in,
The license I produced
Was guarantee I wouldn’t win.

“But wait!” I pleaded with the cop
As she wrote up the ticket,
“I have my current license, too;”
She told me where to stick it.

So you may wonder why I had
A previous I.D.,
When underneath it, there it was –
The current, older me.

The simple truth is ten years’ time
Transformed my youthful face.
When opening my wallet,
All those years I could erase.

The judge dismissed the ticket
(Though I still paid for the turn).
I took away my younger self;
A lesson I did learn:

You simply can’t recapture
How, one time, you used to look.
A mirror should have taught me that;
A cop is what it took.

Germicide

My husband tried to kill the germs
That lurk within our space.
He bought a spray-top Lysol and
He spritzed around the place.

Now germs are rather clever things –
Invisible and sly;
You never know exactly where
Their tiny bodies lie.

They like to float up in the air
And cling to walls and sinks.
I have no faith a spray will work,
Despite what Lysol thinks.

The label shouts out loud and clear
That ninety-nine percent
Of virus and bacteria
Will leave – that’s the intent.

But what about the germs that hide,
Avoiding all that mist?
And yes, there is that one percent
That’s likely to resist.

There’s really not much you can do
When germs invade your nest –
Drink fluids, wash your hands and yes –
Get lots and lots of rest.

As far as Lysol, what the heck,
It doesn’t hurt to spray.
Perhaps it will convince some germs
It’s time they went away.

You Know You're Sick When...

You crave more sleep
Your cough is deep

Your throat is sore
To read’s a chore

Your hunger’s gone
Your face looks drawn

Your headache pounds
You’ve tissue mounds

You can’t go out
Disease-thoughts sprout

You don’t take calls
The day just crawls

At last it’s night
The bed feels right

You hope like hell
You’ll soon feel well

Scratching the Itch

Bees make honey; hens lay eggs.
Brewers mash and fill their kegs.
Chefs make meals and cows give milk.
Spiders spin their webs like silk.

Knitters turn out scarves and sweaters.
In Vermont, they fashion cheddars.
Artists sketch or draw or paint.
English teachers cross out “ain’t.”

Donkeys carry; doctors heal.
Actors act and robbers steal.
Farmers till and hoe and reap.
Mothers rock their babes to sleep.

Every creature has a niche
To satisfy that nagging itch.
As for me, I’ve learned that I’m
Itch-free when I resort to rhyme.

Land Lines

Many people do not have
A land line anymore.
With cell phones, they can’t understand
Just what that line is for.

My answer is it feels much better
Cradled by my ear;
And always, the connection’s
Static-free and crystal clear.

Extensions help when two of us
Must both be on the call.
A cell has speaker phone, but that
Is not the same at all.

A land line is a dying breed,
Like VCR’s and books;
Admitting that you have one
Might just earn some startled looks.

Tennis Undies

Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.

In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.

Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.

They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.

Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.

But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.

Dear Abby

Dear Abby and her sister Ann
Both chose the same career,
A case of sibling rivalry, 
Or so it would appear.

When competition cuts too close,
It’s natural for some friction;
They didn’t speak for several years,
A seeming contradiction.

Eventually, they drifted back
And plainly reconciled.
Though they were twins, each might have wished
To be the only child.

It’s curious when siblings
Opt to follow the same track,
And rarer still when both succeed;
It takes a certain knack.

Now both are gone, with their advice.
They had their share of fame;
But each of them believed, I’m sure,
She had the most acclaim.

Texas

Texans want to break away
From being part of U.S.A.
Big enough to stand alone,
They want a country of their own.

Petitions got a lot of names
Supporting these secession claims;
People hoping to secede
Need White House blessings to succeed.

Instead, they got a rousing No!
It seems they have no right to go,
For back in 1869,
The Court called Texas out of line.

They’ve wanted out for many years;
But still, our Union perseveres.
Why, even when they sent us Bush,
We didn’t think they’d earned a push.

Come on now, Texas, just play nice.
Nothing’s perfect – my advice
Is suck it up and let it rest –
Your destiny is manifest!

On the Button

When buying clothes with buttons
Often they include a spare,
So if you find one missing
You’re all set for the repair.

It’s quite a handy custom,
For a button often pops
And usually we’re unaware
Of how and where it drops.

We rarely notice when the threads
Have started to unravel,
So when it falls, it blends right in
With sidewalk, grass or gravel.

Providing extra buttons
Is both prescient and astute,
Preventing people’s wasting time
In matching-up pursuit.

I wish that other sellers
Would adopt this policy;
I’d never miss an earring
If each pair instead had three!

Despite the Flu Shot...

My husband had his flu shot,
But then he got the flu.
When you take all precautions,
There’s nothing more to do.

They say it isn’t foolproof
For those who got the shot.
My husband is denying that
The flu is what he’s got.

But he has all the symptoms –
The tiredness, the chills,
The sweating and the coughing –
He looks green around the gills.

The doctor ordered lots of liquids,
Chicken soup and rest.
The old humidifier’s plugged,
Which helps to decongest.

I’m giving him the best of care,
(He’ll probably forget it)
But all that I am thinking is –
I sure hope I don’t get it!

The Inauguration

Obama made a super speech;
Beyonce` nailed her notes.
Michelle and her two daughters
Looked amazing in their coats.

“America the Beautiful,”
Though not my favorite choice,
Sounded soulful and affecting
Lilted in James Taylor’s voice.

The glamour crowd – ex-Presidents
And Justices Supreme,
Combined with all the average folk,
Reflecting on the theme:

America united!
For we’ll make the greatest strides
When all people join together,
Though we come from different sides.

That point was made poetically –
Of course, the perfect way –
In Richard Blanco’s masterpiece
Entitled “One Today.”

With universal imagery
To which we could relate,
His poem expanded on the message
Of the Chief of State.

For if you want your speech to soar,
You can’t just status-quo it;
The trick is searching ‘til you find
A clever, brilliant poet.

Ireland

The Slea Head Drive in Dingle
Hugs the lushest land I’ve seen.
It reaffirms the reason
Why the Irish worship green.

I’ve only been to Ireland once
But that was just a start,
For scenic beauty such as that
Imprinted on my heart.

The greenest hillsides anywhere,
A’polka-dot with sheep,
Provided me with memories
My brain will never sweep.

I loved the Irish people
And the landscape near the coast,
But raising up my Guinness
Was the part I loved the most!

Snubbed

Certain directors, expecting to see
Their names on the nominee slate,
Might have been shocked, as the rest of us were,
‘Cause omissions are cause for debate.

Kathryn and Quentin and Argo’s guy, Ben,
Were snubbed or forgotten or worse;
Rumors were floating with people to blame
And reasons both strange and perverse.

Though all of their films got a “Best Picture” nod,
Perhaps all the voters believe
Directors don’t really contribute that much
Or at least less than those three perceive.

I know I’d feel slighted if it had been me,
But grousing out loud’s not allowed;
Still, to Quentin and Kathryn and Ben, I must say
I saw all of your films and was wowed!

Mad for Plaid

I love to see a person clad
In skirt or sweater made of plaid.
A shirt or scarf works just as well;
No stripes or dots can parallel.

In Scotland, once, I went to see
A mammoth Tartan factory.
Each pattern has a special name
And certain ones have gained acclaim.

My closet has a wide selection,
Plaids I wear with great affection.
Wardrobes must be really Spartan
If they lack at least one Tartan!

How Do They Do It?

When sucked into a novel,
What I think, as I glide through it,
Is how, oh how, I’d love to ask,
How did the author do it?

Creating all the characters
And scenes, like someone drew it,
It’s hard to wrap my mind around –
How did that writer do it?

The tricks within the story line,
The clues we’d not intuit,
Are so amazing I am stumped –
However did she do it?

The finished product, like a gift,
When critics did review it,
Deserved each glowing accolade –
Oh man, how did she do it?

If writers share a secret code,
I really wish I knew it,
‘Cause I would write a novel, too,
If I knew how to do it!

(I'm reading Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn)

Parodies

To affirm a show has made it,
More than ticket sales, the proof
Can be found if it is parodied
And pops up in a spoof.

For it’s fun to poke some fun at
Those performances so big
All the audience will recognize
The actor and the gig.

It’s the price of fame and fortune,
For success bestows the right
To exaggerate one’s attributes
And take a mocking bite.

While the viewers grin, the targets
Of the spoof have the last laugh,
For the public still will clamber
To receive their autograph.

Lance Armstrong

Lance expects forgiveness now
For coughing up the truth,
Even though the clues were there
For any paltry sleuth.

Confessing all on Oprah’s show,
He hopes to get on track,
Believing that the sport would gladly
Want to have him back.

After years and years of lying,
While his fans continued hoping,
It’s a bit anti-climactic
To admit that he was doping.

A hero who has fallen
Often stays down in the dust,
For it’s hard to get your base back
After you’ve betrayed their trust.

The Golden Globes

I watched the Golden Globes
And learned who everybody wore.
I wonder who that information
Might be stated for.

It’s not like most of us will run
To find a matching dress.
If it’s couture, it costs much more
That most folks earn, I guess.

Yet still, it’s fun to criticize
Or ogle and admire
And try to picture being dressed
In similar attire:

The gown, the make-up, jewels and hair;
The shoes and corsets – ouch!
I’m grateful that I watched it from
The comfort of my couch.

Brand Loyalty

The toothpaste that I use is Crest.
I cannot tell if Crest is best;
But it’s the brand I’ve always used.
A change would get my teeth confused.

For laundry, what I buy is All;
A prior brand I can’t recall.
My clothes get clean; I like the smell.
A switch would not serve quite as well.

My ketchup’s Heinz, my dressing’s Ken’s.
Purdue’s the brand I like for hens.
My soap is Yardley; Listerine
Is what insures my breath is clean.

What advertisers understand
Is how much power they command;
But customers they love to see
Are loyal sticklers, just like me!

Recommendations

I hesitate to recommend
A show or restaurant to a friend.
What I may like, my pal may not;
I’m sure that happens quite a lot.

For taste is most particular
And some are so nitpickular.
The better answer, if they ask,
Is that you’re not up for the task.

But sometimes, though, you slip and tell
And luckily, it works out well.
You’re happy that you chose to share,
But those exceptions can be rare.

‘Cause if the opposite takes place,
You’re left with egg upon your face.
It’s better not to recommend,
Despite the good that you intend.

Down for the Count

A boxer in the ring may think
He’s getting all the breaks;
Then bam! he’s down, for just like that,
One punch is all it takes.

I know exactly how he feels
For suddenly, today,
Whatever energy I had
Quite quickly drained away.

It happened as I headed home
From taking in a movie.
The walk was twenty-seven blocks,
But I was feeling groovy.

The last few streets seemed very long
And man, I sure was sweating.
I hoped that it was not the flu
That somehow I was getting.

I made it home and hit the couch
And fell into a sleep;
My dinner plans for later on
I knew I couldn’t keep.

Whatever hit me, from left field,
Was surely tantamount
To reeling from a punch that sent me
Flat out for the count.

Joining

People join together to be part of something bigger;
Working next to others can infuse our veins with vigor.
Keeping to yourself is fine, but then you are deprived
Of camaraderie, which gets our eagerness revived.

A book club or a quilting class, the army or marines,
The P.T.A. or Rotary or pool league that convenes,
A dating site or any place our numbers make us strong;
It’s fun to flock with others, well-aware we do belong.

We sign our names or pay our dues or even make a pledge
That we will follow all the rules; our bets we will not hedge.
And then we proudly claim to be a member of the tribe,
Adherent of the practices to which they do subscribe.

Though lots of folks fly solo, many more link with a group,
Becoming an ingredient in some delicious soup;
For adding to the broth, we each bestow our special spice
And often, that’s a recipe for something mighty nice.

Loudmouth on the Train

The train was packed; I had a seat.
I read my magazine.
The car was fairly quiet,
Though you’d never say serene.

Still, I was in the middle of
A story quite engrossing,
When someone with the biggest mouth
Began with his verbosing.

He made up songs with lyrics lame
And he was so annoying
That every sentence that I read
Turned bothersome and cloying.

I couldn’t tune him out and then
Of course, he asked for money,
Apologizing to the folks
Who didn’t find him funny.

I wish someone had shut him up
But on and on he yapped.
He had the perfect audience –
For all of us were trapped.

Having a View

Some people are lucky,
A relative few,
‘Cause the place they reside
Is bedecked with a view.

Be it ocean or river
Or mountains or trees,
They have something to gawk at
Whenever they please.

They pay for the privilege.
Such views don’t come cheap;
But there’s beauty that waits for
Their vision to sweep.

My windows look out on
Tall buildings and sky.
Magnificent vistas
Are in short supply.

Despite what I’m lacking,
I like where I dwell.
It’s cozy and comfy
And fits me quite well.

Would I turn down a view?
I’d be nuts to refuse,
But reality reigns –
So this view’s what I choose.

Hoggin' the Seats

Seats in Starbucks seem quite scarce
‘Cause laptop users hog ‘em.
Dirty looks won’t make them move –
Perhaps it’s time to flog ‘em.

Sitting in a precious seat
For hours seems quite piggy,
Even if they’re doing work
Or tryin’ to get jiggy.

Other people want to sit
When sippin’ brews or snackin’;
No one has the nerve to ask
Those gluttons to get packin’.

Selfishness today appears
To be the status quo.
Perhaps a Starbucks laptop charge
Just might be apropos.

AWOL

In this modern day and age
When someone can’t be reached,
You must assume avoidance means
That etiquette’s been breached.

You leave a message on the phone
And write an e-mail, too.
You can’t think this communication
Hasn’t gotten through.

So you assume this person
Doesn’t care to hear your voice.
With several ways to reach you, well,
He surely has a choice.

The option to ignore you
Is the one it seems he’s chosen.
Your choices now are limited –
You’re mired, stuck and frozen.

And so you wait and stew a bit
‘Cause you just can’t believe
The person you must really reach
Has up and taken leave.

In years gone by, such actions
Would anxiety produce;
But nowadays I shake my head
And think - there’s no excuse.

Paint-by-Numbers

Remember Paint-by-Numbers?
I loved them as a kid.
You filled in all the numbered spaces
Marked out on the grid.

You had your plastic pots of paint,
Each one a numbered match.
Creative juices didn’t flow,
No effort made from scratch.

Yet if you stayed within the lines,
A masterpiece appeared.
You didn’t need instruction
So no parents interfered.

The end result produced a smile
And bursting sense of pride;
A feeling of accomplishment
Just couldn’t be denied.

A lashing out at Lego toys
Brought back my painted treasures.
Some criticize new Lego sets
Which, though providing pleasures,

Deprive the seed of fantasy
Existing in each child
From blossoming and thus,
Imagination can’t run wild.

A Lego Star Wars figure
Builds just that and that alone,
Preventing kids from coming up
With patterns of their own.

To this I say, just let them play
Or paint or draw or build.
Whatever talents wait inside
Will somehow be fulfilled.

Baked Potatoes

The comedian Mitch Hedberg
Made a brilliant observation:
To cook a baked potato,
You should just go on vacation.

Heat the oven, toss the spud in;
Head out for the tropic sun.
You’ll come back, all nice and tanned
And then that sucker will be done.

For a truly baked potato,
Crispy skin and mushy “meat,”
Seems to need a lot of hours
‘Til it’s soft enough to eat.

Then with sour cream or butter
And a healthy dose of salt,
You can dig in and enjoy
But if it’s hard, you’re not at fault.

For it’s true that most potatoes
Take quite long to cook inside,
Which is why we are indebted
To the French, who made them fried!

Digital Detox

Check your cell phone at the door
And welcome to the bash.
No technology allowed,
So ditch your secret stash.

Cut yourself off from your friends
And give your thumbs a break.
We have experts who can help –
Withdrawal’s hard to take.

There are fun activities
To keep you occupied.
Make a bracelet out of hemp –
Materials supplied.

Play some ping pong – shoot some pool;
There’s a foosball table.
Watch some old-time TV shows
From years preceding cable.

Test your typing skills – clack clack;
The paper’s on a roller!
Note the errors you can make
When you are the controller.

Everyone’s invited –
See if you can pass the test,
A night to disconnect
And give those mobile phones a rest.

These parties really do exist –
Restraint is in one’s power;
But most of the participants
Don’t even last an hour!

Slightly Fat

I heard about a study
Which had proof that where it’s at,
In terms of living longest,
Is to be just slightly fat.

When one weighs sixty pounds too much,
That person is obese.
The chances of a lengthy life
Have started to decrease.

But someone who is overweight
By up to thirty pounds
May outlive all the skinny folk,
As crazy as it sounds.

There’s cause for celebration
For the chubby and the plump;
And dieters may pack it in,
For science holds the trump!

My New Year Wishes

Health’s the most important thing;
As such, it tops my list.
Peace within ourselves and where the
Problems do persist.
Yesterdays preserved and packed, a

Nudge to look ahead.
Endless opportunity, just
Waiting to be fed.

Young or old, no matter, must
Envision and devise
A means for us, this year, to reap the
Riches hope implies.