Tres Leches

A meal is not a meal to me
Unless it has dessert.
When looking at a menu,
I kick in to high alert.

I have my favorites but at times
I’ll sample something new
And that is how a special treat
Came up for my review.

When dinner ended (Mexican),
We gave our guest the choice.
“Tres Leches cake” is what he chose;
I didn’t quite rejoice.

For it was unfamiliar
And like flan’s what I envisioned;
Since we were sharing, though, I’d bow
To what I’d not decisioned.

To my surprise, Tres Leches cake
Was heavenly delight!
With berries and meringue on top,
I savored every bite.

Had I objected, ‘twould have been
A terrible mistake
And the proof is in, not pudding,
But within Tres Leches cake!

Ice Cube

I got a plant for Mothers’ Day –
An orchid, snowy white.
I placed it on the windowsill
For steady, gentle light.

Instructions were mysterious –
“Avoid all drafts” – I get it;
But “Water with an ice cube”
Seems the weirdest way to wet it.

For in tropical environments,
Where orchids mostly grow,
Surely rainfall’s warm and misty
And there’s never ice or snow.

Though perhaps a subtle melting,
As the ice begins to trickle,
Is conducive to protecting
Plants so fragile, like a tickle.

So each week I place an ice cube
In the tiny pot to fill it
And I hope that the instructions
Aren’t causing me to kill it!

The Super

City dwellers would agree
To trace a building’s pedigree
You simply have to look around
And find out where the super’s found.

For he’s the one at the controls
While also playing many roles –
He’s handyman and problem-fixer,
Referee and landlord nixer.

Plumber and negotiator,
Checker of the elevator;
Chaser-out of thieves and thugs,
Ridder of both mice and bugs.

If the super’s really good,
Then things are run the way they should.
Most make do with one just fair;
A super super’s pretty rare.

Tomorrow mine will call it quits.
With him, I’ve reaped the benefits
Of loyalty and total trust;
I’m sad to see him hit the dust.

There’ll be a new man at the helm
To rule this little urban realm.
I hope he’ll keep us all afloat
And pray he doesn’t rock the boat.

Thanking Dr. Seuss

Some get hooked on poetry
By reading Robert Frost
Or Dickinson or Poe
Or others whom their paths have crossed.

In college I read Coleridge,
Byron, Shelley,Whitman, Pound,
T.S. Eliot and Wordsworth,
All in Norton’s, nicely bound.

But in truth, what got me started
Was less lofty, though enticing –
More like turning from the cake
So I could focus on the icing.

For my intro into rhyming
(If you don’t count Mother Goose),
Were the silly stories written
By that master, Dr. Seuss.

I was lifted and delighted
By each word upon each page;
Though he also drew the pictures,
It was language that engaged.

Every rhyme and all the rhythm
Seeped by suction to my veins
And they flowed into the depths
Where the important stuff remains.

So to Dr. Seuss I owe a debt.
He changed the way I’m wired
And I wonder if he realized
All the poets he inspired.

Aloe, I Love You (to the tune of the Doors' "Hello I Love You")

Aloe, I love you ‘cause you conquered my itch.
Aloe, I love you, it was making me twitch.
Aloe, from Calamine, you made me switch.
Aloe, my life you know you helped to enrich.

Mosquito bites or hives –
It’s nice to know when the aloe arrives
You’ll get some quick relief
And a little respite from your grief…

Aloe, I love you ‘cause you conquered my itch.
Aloe, I love you, it was making me twitch.
Aloe, from Calamine, you made me switch.
Aloe, my life you know you helped to enrich.

You might have poison ivy
Or a rash from someplace divey.
A bout of chicken pox or measles, too –
You’d get some comfort if you just knew…Ahhhhhh…..

That aloe helps to cool things down,
Turns your lips to smile instead of frown,
Just a little dab seems to do the trick
And its magic starts to work real quick.

Aloe – aloe – aloe – aloe – aloe – aloe – aloe
I love you
Aloe – I need you, baby
Aloe – aloe – aloe – aloe.

Decoration Day

We called it Decoration Day
When I was just a kid
And up ‘til now, I never knew
Exactly why we did.

I always thought that it referred
To stripes that soldiers earned
Or stars and bars for officers,
But that’s not what I learned.

I googled it to double-check
And found out I was wrong.
The “decorations” were for graves
And have been all along.

For each serviceman who fought
And lost his life in sacrifice,
Just a marker on his resting place
Would simply not suffice.

So as tribute and remembrance,
With a flag or a bouquet,
We should beautify a soldier’s grave
On Decoration Day.

No matter what you call it,
When our flag is flown half-mast,
Take a moment for reflection
On our soldiers who have passed.

Sidewalk Chalk

A picture drawn with sidewalk chalk
Will always make me smile
And even in this modern age,
It won't go out of style.

When I was young, our pottsy games
Were proudly done in chalk
And passers-by, when glancing down,
Would not upon them walk.

My children decorated rocks
And our un-trafficked street,
Especially on holidays,
Which made the day complete.

There's an artist in the city,
De la Vega is his name,
Who in secret leaves his chalk impressions,
Earning him some fame.

But no matter who the chalker,
There is one thing that is clear,
When a downpour comes to visit,
All that art will disappear.

Taxis

When the roof light is on
Then the taxi is free
So it cruises around for a fare,
But the mornings on weekends
Are quiet and still;
As for takers, there’s nobody there.

Thus they circle and seek
Someone needing a ride,
Set to take him where he wants to go
And the gas needle drops
As they drive and they drive
For on Saturdays, business is slow.

Now of course, at those times
When you’re needing a cab
And you’re searching around and around
With so many in just
The same fix you are in,
There is nary a one to be found!

Poisoned

A thirsty teacher sipped her water
And she could have fainted
For she discovered that
Her water bottle had been tainted.

Two fourth grade students did the job
With poison pills intended
For rats and mice and not
Some human life you might want ended.

The hospital confirmed the deed;
The poison did its trick.
The teacher didn’t die, but yes,
She certainly got sick.

And what will happen to those boys?
They’ll claim it was a prank.
They’re lucky it was just a sip
Their hapless teacher drank.

Though some will say they didn’t know
They’d fooled around with fire,
Their teacher should just thank her stars,
Say “Screw this!” and retire.

Pay Phones

I see a pay phone here and there
And wonder ‘bout the users –
An anti-mobile group, perhaps,
Or chronic cell-phone losers?

The days of phone booths passed us by –
Clark Kent would be confounded,
As those who died ten years ago
Would surely be astounded.

Yet still, some pay phones do exist –
Your money buys you time,
But likely you no longer get
Three minutes for a dime.

I’m sure such phones will disappear
Like those with finger dials,
Consigned to life as “retro” finds,
To bring nostalgic smiles.

Flo and Jan

Progressive has Flo; Toyota has Jan.
I really don’t get their appeal.
At first, Flo was cool, with her retro pouf hair
But with Jan – tell me, what is the deal?

By now I can say, well, they’re both on my nerves
And I’m sure many others agree;
So a word of advice to their ad people – please
Make commercials both Flo- and Jan-free.

Recognition’s important – I get that, I do,
But a negative sticks in the craw;
If these ads were like diamonds, I’d have to admit
Jan and Flo feel like finding a flaw.

Some Dogs

Some dogs wait to choose their spot;
They circle and they sniff.
Others simply stop and squat,
Like saying, “What’s the diff?

My master picks up dusk or dawn
No matter where my pile is,
So I can go on path or lawn,
‘Cause that’s just what my style is.”

The fussy ones, though, have their pride
And, using all their senses,
They find the perfect place outside,
Despite the consequences.

I wonder how each pooch decides
Just where he feels like pooping,
But gratitude can’t be denied
To those who do the scooping!

When You're Tired

When you’re tired, what’s required
If you want to write a poem,
Is avoiding what’s desired,
Like your bedroom in your home.

For that bed that’s so enticing
Might just lure you in to sleep
And you’ll then be sacrificing
All your rhymes for counting sheep.

So it’s best to put off resting
‘Til your words are on the page,
Though you’re stressed out from investing
In more work than you can gauge.

But tomorrow you can borrow
Several minutes to reflect
How obsession is bizarro,
But with positive effect.

Priorities

Went to a craft fair;
Didn't buy a thing,
But marveled at the gorgeous objects
Vendors got to bring.

Jewelry and fabrics,
Pottery and wood.
I'd have purchased something
But the timing wasn't good...

For across the street awaited
In the playground with my son
And my husband, little Henry,
In the swing and having fun.

I was pulled in two directions,
Toward a purchase or a smile
And I left there empty-handed,
Which is not my normal style.

Yet I got the best of both worlds - 
Saw the crafts and got my grin
Pushing Henry in the swing,
The best position to be in.

It's amazing how priorities
Can simply up and change
But with grandkids in the picture,
Guess it isn't all that strange.

My Morning Walk

On my morning walk, I saw
A robin with a worm;
A yummy breakfast, I am sure,
But one that made me squirm.

I also passed an accident,
With no one really hurt,
But both cars bashed up bad enough
That police were on alert.

The ambulances showed up, too
And fire trucks as well,
So traffic on the F.D.R.
Became a living hell.

You don’t know what the day will bring –
Disaster or delight –
A ruined car, a traffic jam
Or quite a tasty bite.

Each morning is a mystery
And as the hours unfold,
We learn if we will smile or frown
With what the day has doled.

Selfies

Once upon a time, within the
Confines of our youth,
To take a picture of ourselves,
We went into a booth.

We smiled, we frowned, we horsed around
And stepped out from the curtain
Where images in black and white
The camera was convertin’.

Today, instead, it’s “selfies”
Taken with a cellphone turned
To catch a photo of oneself,
To post for all concerned.

Those picture strips from long ago
Were taken as a lark,
With friends with whom on life’s adventures
We were to embark.

But nowadays these “selfies”
Grab each moment, one by one;
Yet glorifying every instant
Sucks out all the fun.

When life is thus immortalized
With ego center-staged,
I wonder if with others
All those “selfies” are engaged.

The 9/11 Museum

A pair of shoes, all scuffed and worn,
A watch whose time is frozen,
A red bandana, all among
The objects that were chosen

And then encased so we could read
Their stories and remember
Exactly how things were
That awful morning that September.

Today, a dedication held,
With speeches and reflections,
Ensuring that we’d all look back
At our own recollections.

For most of us, the memory’s raw
And tinged with such emotion,
Each image conjures tears enough,
Combined, to fill an ocean.

The doors will open up next week;
The crowds will visit, flocking
To feel a bit of what will never
Cease to be so shocking.

Traffic Nest

Twig fell down before my eyes –
Not a tree in sight.
As I glanced up to the skies
I caught a bird in flight…

Heading to its nest below
A traffic light suspended,
Where its babies might just grow,
So easily defended.

I wonder if the nestlings hear
The changing colors clicking
And if it’s comfort more than fear
Within their brains that’s sticking.

If so, those birds will always calm
When traffic lights do change,
An urban dose of soothing balm
Observers might find strange.

Playing Hooky

Today I cut my beading class.
I didn’t feel like going;
But there will be no consequences
Due to my not showing.

I will not get detention
Or some points off from my grade,
Though of course it will take longer
For my bracelet to get made.

It reminds me of the feeling
When I struck out on my own
And became aware each choice I made
Was mine and mine alone.

Beer and nacho chips for dinner
With some ice cream on the side?
There was no one there to tell me
My decisions were denied.

So today I played some hooky,
Not my usual routine,
But at times it’s nice to feel again
Like being seventeen!

Duet

When Henry gets upset, I sing
And now he sings right back,
Thought there are certain elements
Of singing he does lack…

Like keeping tune or rhythm
Or the lyrics to the song.
At almost eight months old, I’m thrilled
That he can sing along.

You wouldn’t be impressed at all
If you would hear him sing,
But it’s the sweetest music
To my ears that he could bring.

Though no one else would listen
To our “harmony,” I’d bet,
My heart’s aglow when me and Henry
Warble our duet.

Once a Year

Happy Obligation Day!
A day that’s like no other,
‘Cause woe to any son or daughter
Disregarding Mother.

Buy those flowers, sign those cards,
Make a reservation;
Phones are buzzing, gifts unwrapped
All across the nation.

More important – call again
Before your bouquet’s wilty;
If once a year’s enough for you,
You should be feeling guilty!

The Cake

“There’s lots of time to get the cake,”
She said, but that was a mistake.
They had none left, all chocolate gone
So desperately, the search was on.

She found one, so all wasn’t lost –
Another place, at twice the cost
And half the taste, most probably –
But that’s between just you and me.

Of course, the lesson to be learned
Is not to wait or you’ll get burned.
A bird in hand’s an adage true;
We oft forget what we once knew.

Friday Night

I light the wick, the candle glows;
It catches quick and then it grows.
The shadows dance upon the wall
As in a trance, I can recall…

The ancient days and candle prayer,
A song of praise to help prepare
For Sabbath eve, a festive meal
Meant to relieve the week’s ordeal.

Those days are gone, at least for me.
As time goes on, the more I see
That old-time rites, once seen as must
Have lost their bites and turned to dust.

Yet still my match creates a flame
Though I detach from whence it came.
The wax will melt and disappear
As if I felt the spirit near…

Facing the Day

The sun comes up, the morning dawns
And many leap up, grinning,
Excited by the prospect of
A fresh new day beginning.

They’ll face head-on whatever comes,
Each challenge so inviting;
The certainty of their success
Affirming and delighting.

Yet others dread that wake-up
For monotony’s the rule,
The hours stretching endlessly –
A banquet serving gruel.

No opportunities abound,
No chance to shine or rise –
Just drudgery and repetition,
Nothing to surprise.

For most of us, although our days
Might follow a routine,
We neither leap nor drag from bed,
But somewhere in between.

Short

Some purport
That I am short
And herein is
My full retort –

A person’s height
Is always right
And most won’t cotton
To a slight.

So be a sport
And please support
The tall, the average
Or the short.

But overall,
I’d not choose tall –
They must hit harder
When they fall!

Commencement Speaker

At my college graduation
There most likely was a speech,
But my memory of whose it was
Is simply out of reach.

Yet today celebrities can claim
Commencement’s greatest prize –
All those celebrating graduates
To bolster and advise.

Surely Conan, Oprah, Ellen
Would a nifty speech produce
But I envy those who listened
To a talk by Dr. Seuss.

It was many years ago, it’s true
And I just read a part of it
But just as you’d expect,
Some perfect rhyme was at the heart of it.

Had I been there, I can guarantee
That I would recollect
Both the message and his manner
And more words than you’d expect.

But instead, my graduation day
Has faded from my mind,
Though I’ll bet there was some wisdom
That the speaker hoped we’d find.

A'buzz

A giant bee is buzzing
Just outside the window pane.
My silent wish that he would leave,
It seems, was made in vain.

He's circling around the roof
With not a hint of going;
His loyalty to that one spot
Shows not one sign of slowing.

I worry, though, about his friends
For bees that seem to thrive,
Instead of shacking up alone,
Will habitate a hive.

Perhaps he's only passing through
And working out his wings,
But I'm afraid he's found the place
For testing out his stings.

The joys of spring are balanced out
With nettles, thorns and stingers,
For beauty sans a little pain
Will slip right through our fingers.

Robin Redbreast

Robin redbreast on the ground,
Pecking, hunting all around
For a tasty worm or slug
Or a creeping, crawling bug...

Somehow you know where to search,
So you're not left in the lurch;
'Cause I know just how you'd feel
If you were forced to skip a meal.

Still, your choices don't entice,
Even with some salt or spice;
For if you offered me a worm,
I would decline - my answer firm!

Stretched Too Thin

It’s great to be busy,
The state I am in,
But sometimes I feel like
I’m stretched way too thin.

The newspaper pile’s
At the tottering stage;
My bookmark’s been stuck
For two weeks on one page.

The email’s unanswered;
The house needs a dusting.
Appointments are canceled
And need readjusting.

There’s shopping to do
And a dress to be bought.
With have-tos and must-dos
I’m frantically fraught.

What happens when things
Get so crazy, perhaps
Is that she who’s stretched thin enough
Suddenly snaps…

Missing the Bowl

I think that I will never see
A toilet bowl without some pee
In droplets sprinkled on the seat
By slobs with habits indiscreet.

For who cannot a minute spare
When lifting up her derriere
To wipe those drips she’s left behind
Unless she’s heartless, cruel or blind?

We’ve all been taught we shouldn’t sit
But even crouching can transmit
Another person’s you-know-what
Onto our unsuspecting butt.

So I beseech my fellow pee-ers
Be your own best oversee-ers;
If you miss the bowl, please wipe
And I’ll be left with one less gripe!

If It Isn't Broken...

New administrators,
Often shooting in the dark,
Think (quite falsely) they must shake things up
So they can make their mark.

Thus they challenge well-run programs,
Up the ante, change the rules
And when bedlam follows, sure enough,
They look, to us, like fools.

In the meantime, though, we suffer,
For their efforts make things worse;
As they strut and flaunt their power,
We can only grouse or curse.

Sometimes justice will prevail
And their ideas will all be nixed,
Proving if it isn’t broken,
There’s no need to get it fixed.