On a Wet Country Road

I’d hoped some salamanders
Would be crawling on the road,
For a downpour in the country
Makes them exit their abode.

But I haven’t seen them lately
And I looked with every tread.
What I noticed, though, were lots and lots
Of slimy slugs instead.

Like the worms that they resemble
They enjoy the ground when wet
And emerge from ‘neath the soil
With each chance that they may get.

In my youth, a salamander
I would lift up by the tail
But there’s not the same attraction
To this skeevy shell-less snail.

Emergency Broadcast

The music interrupted,
We all listened for the why.
An announcer gave a warning
That a thunderstorm was nigh.

He was very time-specific
For the counties that he named
And I wonder if the weather
Will be scary as he claimed.

On the back porch I am sitting,
Gazing upwards at the sky
Where I must admit a big black cloud
Is waiting there, on high.

But there's still a bit of sunshine
So it's possible we'll skirt
Such a downpour that deserves 
Such an emergency alert.

Forty minutes are remaining
If the broadcasters are wise
And if nothing comes to pass, it won't be
Much of a surprise.

Waiting for the Bus

While waiting for the bus, a woman
Started to converse.
She sensed I wasn't in the mood
But then, what made it worse

Was when she mentioned that she came
From having radiation.
I couldn't just ignore her, having
That as information.

We both wore baseball caps, but then
She pulled hers off to show
Me that the little hair upon her head
Had started, now, to grow.

Our conversation on the bus
Touched down on this and that - 
The neighborhood, the weather, food;
We had a pleasant chat.

A tidbit we discovered was
Our ages were the same.
Her stop came first - we said goodbye
With no exchange of name.

Dental Appointment

I can’t avoid the dentist
Though I really wish I could
‘Cause once I’m in that chair I know
He’s up to nothing good.

Of course, it’s for my benefit
But man, it’s so unpleasant
That being told I didn’t have to go
Would be a present.

The poking and the prodding,
The drill with all its noise
Add up to what I’m sure that
Really nobody enjoys.

I even hate that object
Placed to suck up all the drool.
He calls it “Mr. Thirsty”
But that doesn’t make it cool.

The only plus that I can see
Is, when my visit’s done,
At least 6 months will pass before
There’ll be another one.

Denim

Sure, I own a denim jacket
And, of course, a bunch of jeans.
All my closets have held denim
Since the time I hit my teens.

Back in high school and in college
There was little else to wear;
Maybe corduroy or khaki'd
Show up on my derriere.

Though my wardrobe’s now more varied
(There’s no denim skirt or vest),
Jeans are still among the choices
Every day when I get dressed.

So I owe a debt to Davis*
And his partner, Levi Strauss,
For providing me with bottoms
I can match with top or blouse.

*Jacob W. Davis

Too Much To Do

When there’s too much to do
It’s so easy to rue
Your decision on what to do first,
For when something’s begun
And you want that work done
There’s no way you can have that reversed.

It’s a shame to thus fret,
Even worse to regret
If you’ve checked something off on your list,
‘Cause for each finished chore
There will always be more
And a few that you probably missed.

Finding Your WAZE

Hearing raves from several friends
We thought that we would try it.
It's just a free app on the phone - 
We didn't have to buy it.

It's GPS but up-to-date
So if you let it guide you,
You'll feel as if you have a genie
Sitting right beside you.

Avoiding all the traffic jams
You get to where you're going
In much less time than if you didn't
Have this way of knowing.

WAZE is what this app is called
And I forgot one perk - 
They let you know exactly where
The policemen like to lurk!

The V.P.

With V.P.'s picked, the candidates
Are on the campaign trail,
Each hoping that the other's choice
Will make some voters bail.

But really, no one cares that much
If running mates seem weak.
For most of them, the limelight
Isn't something that they seek.

Unless, of course, the President
Can't finish out the term.
The Second-in-Command may then
Make party members squirm.

We cast our votes for President
And hope we'll never see
The Number 2 man in the place
He wasn't meant to be.

Urban Breakfast

The baby called; the mother came.
He’d barely time to squirm
Before she nosed around and did
Procure a slimy worm.

She plopped it in his waiting beak
And went to find another,
Providing for her offspring
Just like any other mother.

We watched them from the sidewalk
Of a New York City street,
A rarely-glimpsed scenario
Complete with pre-tech tweet.

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries

The chocolate-covered strawberries 
Were free, as a promotion.
My friend gave me a coupon - "Use it
If you've got the notion."

I brought them home and ate a few
Then stuck them in the freezer.
I didn't love them but I said I did,
So it would please her.

That was a year ago and I'd
Forgotten they existed,
But when I found them, tossing them
Was something I resisted.

You see, my friend who'd coupon-shared
No longer is alive.
It seems ironic that these treats, though,
Managed to survive.

They hardly take up any room
Behind the ice cube tray
So that is where, at least for now,
Those strawberries will stay.

The Ceiling Fan

The ceiling fan spins ‘round and ‘round
Distributing the air
To spread a little breeze to those
Who might be sitting there.

It does its job and I do mine –
To sit beneath its blades
While hoping that the building heat
Reverses course and fades.

The weatherman’s predicting
That the weekend will be worse
As the gathering humidity
Will zap us like a curse.

If it does, the fan won’t help us
But will trick us to believe
That its whirring has the power
Only Nature can relieve.

Summer Sighting

He frolicked through the grass
And then he clambered up a tree,
Gazing at the cars all filled
With wide-eyed folk like me.

The traffic slowed so everyone
Could get a little peek
At the black bear yearling (give or take),
The highlight of the week.

It's such a treat to catch a glimpse
Of wildlife in the wild.
Perhaps that bear, confronting us,
Was equally beguiled.

The Republican Convention

I heard the speeches, watched the crowds
And shuddered as I thought,
This surely is a crazy world
And look at what it’s wrought:

A candidacy fueled by fear
With smears of subterfuge;
A leader who proclaims that he
Will win and do it YUGE!

I’d thought I’d see it as a joke
But I was not prepared
For the frenzy of the faithful;
Now I’m more than slightly scared.

Black Licorice

The Twizzlers that I eat are red.
They’re great, but what they lack
Is that special flavor that’s reserved
For licorice that’s black.

I bought a yard of it when on
An Italy vacation.
To Twizzlers this stuff only has
A very slight relation.

For Italians love their anise
So their candy is imbued
With the punch this seed does carry
And its matching attitude.

I could kick myself, believe me,
‘Cause I only bought a yard
And when it is gone, the loss of it
Will hit me very hard.

Noel Neill

Noel Neill passed away,
No Superman to save the day.
If unfamiliar with her name,
Then you're too young to know her fame.

But those of us of certain age
Can see her byline on the page -
"The Daily Planet," where she worked
And Superman, she gathered, lurked.

For Noel Neill was Lois Lane,
Reporter with Clark Kent, her main
Contender as the Man of Steel,
Without that super sex appeal.

His glasses let nobody see
His actual identity
Yet Lois - nosy, sharp and wise
Could penetrate his weak disguise.

Other actors played the part
But Noel Neill, pert and smart,
Will always, in our minds, remain
The one and only Lois Lane.

We'll See

When I was a kid, if my brothers and I
Asked my parents for a treat,
We could tell right off by their reply
If we had met defeat.

For even if there did exist
A possibility,
We knew that "No!" was hidden 
In those dreaded words "We'll see."

"We'll see" implied that circumstance 
Could alter their decision,
But kids learn to respond to that
With well-deserved derision.

I vowed to never say that phrase,
Though I still hear it used,
'Cause every child who hears it
Knows it means he's been refused.

Shrinking

The list of destinations
Seems to shrink 'most every day
For when planning a vacation,
Fear should not come into play.

From the Zika scare in Rio
To most islands with a beach,
Sounds like tropical escapes
To many will be out of reach.

ISIS is another story,
Bombing airports and cafes.
Who needs travel filled with worry?
Extra caution always pays.

Now another horror's happened
With an awful truck attack.
Some vacationers in Nice
Will, sadly, not be coming back.

Though of course it could be anywhere
That people choose to roam,
All these stories will make many
Spend vacations safe at home.

National French Fries Day

Yesterday, I learned too late,
Was something meant to celebrate -
A day when everyone should cry:
Hooray, hooray for the French fry!

To me, it isn't a surprise
At homage offered to French Fries.
They rank up with my favorite foods
And always will improve my moods.

Some won't eat them - too much oil!
My healthy intake they will spoil!
But to those folk, so lah-di-dah,
My answer is just one word  - bah!

I don't need a special date
Reminding me what joys await
When served a crispy plate of fries.
(Of course, that's why I exercise!)

Squished

On my morning walk, on a country road,
I saw a bird, a mouse, a toad
All flattened out, completely squished -
Not quite the ending they'd have wished.

Though traffic's light, these heedless three
Ignored precautions, unlike we,
Who'd look both ways before we'd cross;
Not doing so assured their loss.

The mouse, who runs and toad, who jumps,
Predictably would take such lumps
But I can't comprehend just why 
The bird did not take wing and fly.

I'm sure their brethren might await
A similar unlucky fate,
For crossing roads has such appeal
It warrants squishing 'neath a wheel.

Saved

I watched a tiny spider
Try to catch a giant ant.
I wondered if his inner voice
Was arguing, "I can't!"

That didn't seem to be the case.
The ant was nearly caught,
But as the spider wrapped him up,
Quite mightily he fought.

Despite the spider's efforts, though,
At last the ant broke free.
He had no clue that waiting was
A bigger foe (that's me!).

For normally I'd squash an ant
I'd come across inside,
But after such a struggle,
I'd feel awful if he died.

So gingerly I scooped him
To deposit him outdoors
Where he scampered very quickly
On his version of all-fours.

Had I not observed his battle
He'd be crushed beneath my shoe,
So his would-be killer helped him,
Not quite what he'd meant to do.

If It Isn't One Thing

A worrier will never lack
A reason for her worry
And if that gets resolved she'll find 
A new one in a hurry.

Such people never drift along
Enjoying and relaxing 
Since problems pop up everywhere 
For psyches needing taxing.

An old-time phrase I've often heard,
Perhaps from my own mother,
Is "If it isn't one thing 
You can bet that it's another."

The "it" is not identified
But clearly it's not good
And if it doesn't worry you,
Look out! Because it should!

I envy those who have the knack
To float without a care.
If all these things just disappeared,
I'd love to join them there.

Routines

We all establish our routines
Which differ man to man
And stick to them (we women, too!)
Both when and if we can.

The time we wake, our washing up,
The toothpaste that we use,
The breakfast that we eat or not,
The paper we peruse…

The games we play, the friends we call,
The places we hang out,
The TV shows we watch or don’t
Define what we’re about.

Some people like to shake things up
And vary their routines
But mine are as embedded
As my blood type or my genes!

Buddy Holly

He burst onto the music scene
And knew that he was good.
Not everyone, though, gets the chance
To make it, like he should.

With glasses thick and body thin
His style showed off his soul
And many gave him credit
For the spread of rock & roll.

From “That’ll Be the Day”
To “Peggy Sue” and many more,
His songs made crowds go wild
And fame came knocking at his door.

A tragic plane crash took his life
At only twenty-two.
Had he survived, who knows how many
Things he’d yet to do.

Though it’s been over fifty years
Since Buddy Holly’s gone,
His music, fresh and vital,
Helps his spirit carry on.

Muggy

Feeling sluggy when it's muggy
Surely is the norm.
Nothing's gained when I feel drained
'Cause temps are way too warm.

In my lair I blast the air
And rarely venture out,
Wond'ring why, with temps so high,
I'd gallivant about.

There are those, I do suppose,
Who like this kind of hot.
Rest assured, that strikes no chord;
Among them I am not.

Biscuits and Blues*

A plate of deep-fried chicken,
Slaw and greens and ice-cold beer
Did provide the perfect harmony
For what we came to hear.

When the blues is on the menu,
Southern fare is de rigueur
And the biscuits, honey-buttered,
Only added to the lure.

While the saxophone was wailing
And guitar strings nimbly picked,
We were chowing down on vittles,
Fingers prim and proper licked.

The proprietor was clever
In the name that he did choose
For we savored every moment
Of the biscuits and the blues.

*a blues club in San Francisco

The Fillmores

The Fillmore East and Fillmore West
Had shows with bands who were the best.
Bill Graham, the Fillmore's promo man,
Was the performers' biggest fan.

They loved him, too, today I learned,
Respect which both ways was returned.
He often flew from coast to coast
To manage those he loved the most.

A near museum had a show
And I'm so glad I got to go.
With concert clips and poster art,
I traced both Fillmores from the start.

One concert ad, most likely rare,
Meant more to me 'cause I was there.
I closed my eyes and saw the stage,
The memory not dimmed with age.

The past is gone, my husband states,
And thinking back he really hates
But such exhibits, bittersweet
Though they might be, are still a treat.

The Fireworks

We didn't think we'd get to see
The fireworks at all,
The fog so thick it cast more than
Its ordinary pall.

We also didn't care to trudge
To where we'd have a view,
The sort of thing our younger selves
Would likely want to do.

And so we bought some wine and sat
Outside our hotel room
On the terrace, many stories up,
To wait for the first boom.

But suddenly, a burst appeared
To brighten up the sky
And then another, all of them
On level with my eye.

Our Chinatown location
Made July the 4th a treat
And the wine and the biscotti
Made the evening feel complete.

On the Dance Floor

We clustered on the dance floor
At the edges, though we danced.
You might have missed us if
Into the room you'd quickly glanced.

The energetic dancers
In the middle of the crowd
Jumped and boogied in stilettos
To the music pulsing loud.

Our old moves were more subdued
And, although we sang along,
We were clueless to the lyrics
Of each recent top-hit song.

While the partiers were grooving,
Beaming smiles on every face,
Some of us still did the cha-cha,
Which looked sadly out of place.

At a dear friend's daughter's wedding,
Buddies of the groom's and bride's
Danced exactly like we used to
While we watched them from the sides.

Early Morning, San Francisco

The building tops are shrouded
By a thick persistent fog.
The sun, despite his name day,
Must be sleeping like a log.

I watch the darkness lifting
Very slowly, from my perch
Twenty-seven stories higher
Than the steeple of a church.

A gull swoops by; some taxicabs
Glide slowly down the street.
The flags on poles sway side to side,
Perhaps to Sousa's beat.

It's early morning in this city
Nestled by the bay.
My view is of the buildings, though,
Varieties of gray.

The clouds hang low, so thick that you
Could cut them with a knife.
I hope the sun breaks through before
The city comes to life.

Losing Nachos

I fly JetBlue for their snacks, TV's
And lots and lots of flights.
Doritos is my favorite snack,
Providing yummy bites.

The flight attendant just revealed
That, in this airline venue,
These Nacho Cheese delights
Will soon be taken off the menu.

Though Cheez-its will replace them
(Both have Cheese within their name),
Every snacker would agree that they
Are nowhere near the same.

To the top execs of JetBlue -
Word of mouth might cause a break
For your loyal Frequent Fliers
Might just switch for your mistake.

Do not sacrifice our Nachos
Thinking it could help our health.
If we start to fly United, 
It just might affect your wealth!

Heading West

I'm heading west tomorrow
For a wedding Sunday eve
And very early is the hour
When I have to leave.

When I arrive, though, it will seem
Much later than it is
So by the evening I'll be like
A Coke without the fizz.

For bodies sometimes need some time
Before they can adjust
And crossing time zones may just leave
Our vigor in the dust.

Still, I will party 'til I may
Just crumble in a heap,
But on the red-eye coming home
You'll find me fast asleep.