Counting Nina's

The Historical Museum*
Has a wonderful collection
Of the drawings done by Hirschfeld,**
Waiting there for your inspection.

As you view his work you’ll realize
He’s the Caricature King;
From his sketchpad and his pencils,
Magic images would spring.

He could capture a celebrity
With just a few quick strokes.
Most were honored to be subjects
Of his playful, artful pokes.

But the fun in all his sketches,
Once his daughter was alive,
Lies in looking for the Nina’s,
(Starting 1945).

For her name was always hidden
In the lines upon the page,
Giving viewers quite a challenge,
In which many would engage.

Sometimes there’d be many Nina’s
In which case he’d let you know
By a number written next to
His cool signature below.

If you visit the exhibit,
You can sit in Hirschfeld’s chair
And pretend you’re hiding Nina’s,
With his humor and his flair.

*New York Historical Society
**Al Hirschfeld

Returns

I don’t know when I’ll ever learn;
I eye, I buy and then return.

But often, there’s a little clue
Alerting me to what I knew

Which is, if I am thinking twice,
Despite the fact the item’s nice,

It means it isn’t quite for me –
And then the rest is history.

I tell myself that it will work
(Though doubts, of course, remain and lurk)

And then my credit card comes out,
As if there’s not the slightest doubt.

I get it home or it arrives;
My insecurity revives.

It isn’t right, it doesn’t fit
And poof! I know that this is it.

I pack it up, I bring it back;
It heads back to a shelf or rack.

I’ll try again ‘cause someday soon,
When something sends me to the moon,

I’ll feel the same when I get home;
But that will be another poem.

Deer Crossing

The warning sign says there are deer
Which might just cross ahead.
By hitting one, you’ll smash your car;
The deer may end up dead.

The only deer I come across
Are those already hit.
With open eyes, they look surprised,
At least a little bit.

I’m certain as they leaped across
The road to meet their death,
They didn’t realize they were close
To taking their last breath.

I wonder ‘bout the drivers, though,
And, too, their bashed-up rides.
There might be damage to their psyches,
Down the road, besides.

You never really can prepare
When deer decide to cross.
Despite the signs, when one is hit,
It’s everybody’s loss.

The Book Sale

The book sale happens once a year;
I stock up when I go.
The choices wait in boxes,
Alphabetically, by row.

I search for larger paperbacks 
(The ones considered "trade"),
Although they cost as much
As all the hardbacks there displayed.

My son says, "Get a Kindle"
But I love a book in hand, 
A feeling that I know that many
Others understand.

Today they had the book sale
And I carted off my treasures,
So now I have the reads I need
For many summer pleasures.

5-4

Same-sex marriage got the nod
From 5 of the Supremes,
Allowing gays to do for real
What's dangled in their dreams.

In every single state,
Without exception, in the land,
A couple, straight or gay, may wed,
Which some can't understand.

I guess that group includes the 4
Dissenters on the Court,
Who somehow weighed the rights of gays
And found they came up short.

Though reason triumphed in this case,
I shudder at the thought
Of future rulings which may leave
Most liberals distraught.

At least, for now, our hopes can be
Maintained and kept alive
For justice did prevail
With a majority of 5.

The 64 Pack

The envy of the classroom
Back when I was just a child
Wasn't someone who could run real fast
Or one whose hair was styled.

Didn't matter who was smartest
Or who was the teacher's pet
But the one who managed to procure
What no one else could get.

For though everyone had crayons
(All Crayola, like as not),
We all craved the 64 Pack - 
So much more than most had got.

There were colors we'd not heard of,
All lined up in ordered rows - 
With a sharpener included!
(Quite a bonus, I suppose.)

Many years have zipped by quickly
And although I know the score,
Guess my husband wasn't privy - 
He bought Henry* 24!

*our grandchild

Playing Games

There aren't many games I play
For most of them require
Some patience and some strategy
Or, at the least, desire.

I quite enjoy my "Words with Friends"
But usually I lose.
The very first word that I see
Is likely what I'll choose.

Of course, I should peruse the board
And calculate the score,
But doing that would make the game
A stultifying bore.

My mah jongg buddies hem and haw
Before they make their move.
I play real fast so rarely win;
The pros would disapprove.

For competition means that all
The effort we extend
Should serve to help us play the game
And win it in the end.

The only real advantage
Of my non-competing flair
Is that when I see the outcome,
If I lose, I hardly care.

Pistol-Packin'

Oh, to go to school in Texas,
With my handgun by my side!
If professors tried to fail me,
Justice would not be denied.

I’d be such a model student,
With my pistol in my pack.
If a nut job started shooting,
I could shoot at him right back!

Why, my college would be safer
Since we’d all be packing arms,
But I guess at every airport,
We’d be setting off alarms.

Still, I wouldn’t use a holster
‘Cause all guns must be concealed,
Though before you’d blink your eye,
My .22 could be revealed.

Yes, to go to school in Texas
Would be what I’d like to try,
Just to get an education
As those bullets whiz on by! 

At the Beach

On a day at the beach
You have sun, you have sand
And a backdrop of ocean
To lap at the land.

If you’re there with some friends
And umbrellas for shade,
All your worries dissolve
(If some sunblock you’ve sprayed).

You relax and unwind
While enjoying the breeze
And pretend that you’re living
A life full of ease.

But alas, the day ends
And you trudge off the sand
With towel, umbrella
And beach chair in hand.

You’re sticky and icky
And clammy and hot
And only a shower
Will cure what you’ve got.

But once you’ve rinsed off,
You start wondering when
You’ll be able to visit
The seaside again.

Celebrating Dad

It’s Fathers’ Day, so we obey
By celebrating dad
And thus we may reflect and weigh
The dad we have or had.

We see his flaws but then we pause
To set those thoughts aside
And give applause to him because
We know how much he’s tried.

When times are tough, a manner gruff
Might masquerade some fear
But it’s enough, when things get rough,
To know he’s always here.

For life is short and his support
Has surely played its part
To help us thwart each bad report
By cradling our heart.

To Beer

My father was my link to beer
And Rheingold was his brew.
That red and white can held the only
Lager that I knew.

As I grew up I switched to wine -
Sangria was in style -
And even learned to like some booze -
Tequila, for a while.

But years ago I drifted back
To early brewski days,
Especially when I discovered
Hoppy IPA's.

Back then, the stores had just a few
So I scoped out my faves.
I tried to spread the word but
Very few confirmed my raves.

Yet happily for me, today,
The craft beer movement's hot 
And with so much to choose from,
There are loads I like a lot.

My dad, if he were still alive,
Would sip and shake his head,
Rejecting all those crafty brews 
For Rheingold-types instead.

But each of us would raise a glass
(Or bottle, can or mug)
And share a father-daughter toast
Before we'd smile and chug.

Swat!

A fly should be content outside
For if he ventures in,
He'll soon find out inside will be
The last place that he's been.

'Cause if he settles on the wall
Or window pane or sill,
His final glance will be the swatter
Ready for the kill.

A perfect world would not allow
Invasions by such pests,
But there's a reason you can purchase
Swatters for these "guests."

My New Neighbor

Paul McCartney bought a home
Just blocks away from mine.
Of course, he faces Central Park
With views, I’m sure, divine.

My whole apartment likely
In his living room would fit.
I’ll let you know as soon as I
Have been inside of it.

For now that we’ll be neighbors,
I’m convinced – don’t you agree?
That I’ll receive an invitation
For a spot of tea.

I’ll tell him of the fan mail
That I sent him long ago.
I never got his answer
But the mail is so darn slow!

We’ll catch up on how life has been –
I want to know it all;
I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time
When I hear from Sir Paul.

F.A.O. Schwarz

The biggest toy store in the world
Is closing up its doors.
No longer will we get to shop
In this, the king of stores.

With huge toy soldiers in the front,
It welcomed all who came.
The famous piano scene from “Big”
Just added to its fame.

A life-sized ape or elephant
Was there for you to buy.
It cost nine hundred bucks
But there was always a supply.

Yet you could also buy a toy
For several smackeroos.
From all the well-stocked shelves
There was so much on hand to choose.

Both tourists and New Yorkers
Liked to stroll its tempting aisles
And children wandered bug-eyed,
Faces bursting with their smiles.

But now the heyday’s over;
There’ll be no more F.A.O.,
Just another fine example
Of the way things seem to go.

Down the Line

We take our health for granted
(Hypochondriacs aside)
Until good fortune and
The unavoidable collide.

For something’s bound to happen;
If it misses us in youth,
Then age will slow us down
So we can’t fight it – that’s the truth.

And when infirmity descends,
It hates to let us go.
It’s possible to conquer it,
But progress might be slow.

We can’t appreciate our health
When we are feeling fine,
Yet no one likes to contemplate
What’s waiting down the line.

Incident at the French Open

A fan of Roger Federer
Strolled calmly on the court,
His goal a selfie with
His favorite player in the sport.

Security was lax enough
That no one blocked his path.
The organizers played it down
But Roger showed his wrath.

The fan was harmless and fourteen
But Federer was right;
Protection of the players
Should be rigorous and tight.

For years ago, a fan deranged
Stabbed Seles in the back
And it took years for Monica
To heal from that attack.

The French seemed rather cavalier
About this shocking breach,
But lessons from the past should keep
The players out of reach.

Preponderance

Here’s a truth that’s absolute:
If something is considered cute,
That label long won’t be applied
If what was cute gets multiplied.

Like chipmunks – always in a hurry;
Charming in their need to scurry.
One or two of them seems fine;
More than that, I draw the line.

Lately, they are everywhere.
Once shy, today they even dare
To race around where people tread
Without the slightest bit of dread.

Emboldened by their numbers, they
Make hay and will not go away.
Preponderance can help dilute
What was, in moderation, cute.

Planting

Once a year I buy some soil
And flowers, brightly hued,
To fill my planters, knowing that
I'll smile whene'er they're viewed.

Petunias in purple plus
Geraniums in red,
Along with sunny marigolds,
Now share a potting bed.

They liven up the porch and add
A welcome meant for all
Who pass my home or even better,
Drop by for a call.

But really, they are there for me.
A gardener I'm not,
Yet even I can fill my pots
With plants I like a lot.

Doo Wop

Just came from a Doo Wop show - 
Such energy! Such fun!
The spotlight managed to be shared,
All night, by everyone.

No prima donnas here, just folks
Performing from the heart,
With such excitement on their faces,
From the very start.

The audience did whoop and cheer
And gave their full support.
The singers gave their all
And not a one of them fell short.

My daughter was among them
And she nailed her parts just right.
I'm sure she'd love that much attention
Every single night.

Performances are special
And this one was so, indeed,
For each person on that stage
Has what we'd call a "special need."

Casa Azul

Frida and Diego’s house
Had walls of cobalt blue.
Today it’s a museum and
Their paintings are on view.

I didn’t go to Mexico
To visit their collection,
But at the Garden, got to see
A limited selection.

The cactus plants in ochre pots
Arranged in artful ways
Allowed me to imagine Frida
Living out her days.

Some paintings rounded out the show
And photographs as well,
To place the artists at the site
Where both did work and dwell.

The highlight of the whole display,
Which made me crave much more,
Was all the Frida tchotchkes*
In the Garden’s lovely store.

An orange pot and purple plant
Now grace my windowsill,
Reminding me of Frida –
Very un-run-of-the-mill.

*trinkets, knickknacks

(The New York Botanical Garden
currently has an exhibit about Frida Kahlo
and Diego Rivera’s house, Casa Azul.)

Habits

Habits have a habit,
If they’re early-on ingrained,
Of becoming who you are, a bit
Of childhood you’ve retained.

You brush your teeth a certain way;
You’re neat or you’re a slob.
Attempts to change will seem to be
Like shirking on the job.

You spend your money all at once
Or penny-wise, keep track.
You finish things before they’re due
Or let the time go slack.

You wake up late and lie in bed
Or leap before it’s light.
You like a quiet evening home
Or party every night.

Of course, a habit can be changed
But likely, once it’s stuck,
If someone tries to mend your ways,
He’ll find he’s out of luck!

Whack-a-Mole

Life’s a giant Whack-a-Mole,
For problems always pop
Just when you foolishly believe
You’ve made it to the top.

You never really get there;
If you whack that tsurris* down,
Before too long, that foolish smile
Will morph into a frown.

Enjoy the ups while they are there
But don’t let down your guard,
For those who think they’ve won the game
Will always fall real hard.

Don’t you let them take your hammer;
Keep on whacking every mole.
Still, you really must remember -
Winning’s out of your control.

*problems, troubles

The Barnes*

Albert Barnes, who grew up poor,
Became extremely rich
And had the means to buy some art,
Which satisfied an itch.

He bought Cezannes, Renoirs, Monets,
Picassos and Matisse
And mounted all upon his walls
As numbers did increase.

He wrote a will with lots of terms
About his precious art;
The public could come twice a week
And that was just the start.

His paintings weren’t to be moved
Or loaned to anyone,
But since his death, financial woes
Meant trouble had begun.

A legal battle did ensue;
The artwork all was moved.
In spirit, Barnes was honored;
A new building was approved.

And thus I got to see this art
His trustees seemed to save –
A treasure trove unparalleled –
While Barnes rolls in his grave!

*Barnes Foundation Museum in Philadelphia

Flashing

I guess she supposed she was dashing,
The woman whose ring kept on flashing.
     Instead she looked crass
     Without any class
And merited more than a lashing!

(Not a diamond - battery-operated!)

The Belmont

Sat at a bar with an English bloke,
The race set to begin.
He had no clue about the stakes
Or who was primed to win.

My husband filled him in about
The Triple Crown and such;
He was intrigued although he didn't
Really know too much.

The race began; our glasses raised,
We watched the horses run,
The winner clear right from the time
The sprint had first begun.

"A Triple Crown!" we shouted
As the winner crossed the line. 
We had no money on the race;
The outcome still was fine.

For people love a winner
And this horse* sure fit the bill. 
He'd won the Derby, Preakness, but
He hadn't had his fill.

Today, he put an end to that
And we all raised a glass
To Number 5, a special breed
With speed and grace and class.

Our British friend was cheering, too,
Quite glad he got to see
A bit of what will be set down
In racing history.

*American Pharoah

Fallingwater

Fallingwater is a house
Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright
And tours are given of its rooms
To bring one great delight.

The home is cantilevered
So the owners'd have a view
Of a lovely waterfall, a vista
Visited by few.

Every door and every window
Can be opened all around
So the residents or visitors
Could relish every sound.

All the terraces and woodwork,
Every fireplace and lamp
Is so obvious a Wright work,
Just as if he'd left a stamp.

After touring and observing
Such a setting so divine,
I can only state the obvious -
I wish that place were mine!

Heinz 57

Henry Heinz made ketchup
(First called catsup) long ago,
Plus a host of other products - 
Some you'd be surprised to know.

On a train in New York City,
Henry saw an ad for shoes;
There were 21 styles mentioned,
Quite a catchy lure to use.

Since he sold a lot of products,
(Over 60, so they say)
He picked 57, which is what
Their label says today.

He just liked the way it sounded -
In the brain that number sticks -
So it's been that way forever,
(Or since 1896.)

That's the second fact I learned
At the museum* about Heinz,
But the first one really threw me
As a writer of some lines.

On the early cans and bottles,
When he started in the biz,
Heinz included an apostrophe - 
The catsup was Heinz's.

Doesn't Heinz sound so much better?
Sometimes advertising moves
Borrow some poetic license
So their product name improves!

*Heinz History Center in Pittsburgh

Trucks

If you don't like to drive
On the road with a truck,
Then on certain roads,
You'll be out of luck.

If the road is the plate
And the trucks are the bread,
You may start to feel
Like the sandwich spread.

But no matter the speed
That you like to go,
When you're stuck with a truck
You will both go slow.

Still the rules of the road
Mean that while you drive,
You defer to the trucks
So you'll stay alive!

In Gettysburg

In Gettysburg, the soldiers fell
In shock, in pain, in death,
As thousands from the North and South
Cried out with their last breath.

Their bodies lay in bloody fields,
A vista grim and stark;
Today, those hills have been restored
Into a hallowed park.

With monuments and obelisks 
Commemorating all
Who fought and died when barely grown,
Sucked in to wartime's thrall.

A marker made of stone records
The bodies there interred,
Remembered with a name or else
"Unknown," a lonely word. 

The numbers laid out state by state
Count lives the war's undone.
New York sustained the greatest loss -
Eight hundred sixty-one.

That just reflects the ones who died
Those three days in July
And after all these years, no one
Can really answer why.

The battlefields are there to see -
To visit and to tour
But sadly, war is a disease
For which there is no cure.

Road Trip

An actuary does the math
And figures out the time
Each person gets to live his life
Before he leaves his prime.

Of course, an average doesn’t mean
That everyone’s the same,
So some of us will stay alive
Beyond statistic’s claim.

Yet knowing what I know, as years
Accumulate and pass,
The time to travel’s NOW before
Death bites me in the ass.

And so I pack my bags, a road trip
Waiting ‘round the bend,
Some sights to see we haven’t seen
Is what we do intend.

The actuary’s formula
May hold a lot of truth,
But even I can do the math
When I subtract my youth!