Three Blind Mice

At music class, they sang the song
About the farmer's wife
But this time, just to be P.C.,
There was no carving knife.

The mice retained their tails, but still
There was a bigger crime;
They substituted "nice" for "knife,"
Which doesn't even rhyme!

The lyrics from our youth, I'm sure,
Caused not one drop of harm,
But for the future poets,
I am sounding the alarm.

The Most Interesting Man

An ad campaign for many years
To sell Dos Equis beer
Employed a pitchman, who has now
Appeared to disappear.

They called him “The most interesting
Man in all the world,”
But now he’s been laid off and rumors
Naturally have swirled.

The truth, of course, is no surprise –
They’ve kicked him off the stage
For reasons very Hollywood –
In other words, his age.

The actor, in his seventies,
Has quickly been replaced
By someone forty-one, whose youth
The marketers embraced.

I guess you can’t be interesting
When your years advance,
So if offered a Dos Equis now,
I’d smile and say, “Fat chance!”

Play Doh

We made a Play Doh pizza
(Forming spinach from the green)
And I cut out little slices
(Cutest ones I've ever seen).

Next we patted pancakes, rolled out snakes
And to our hearts' content,
We squished and squished with all our might;
(A perfect way to vent!).

Though the colors smushed together
(Not my choice, but what the hey)
We had lots of fun, the perfect
Inter-generation play.

Then we stuffed the Play Doh in the cans
And covered them up tight
'Til another opportunity
Presents for such delight.

The Debate

They smiled, shook hands and took their spots,
Preparing for a fight
And each made verbal jabs which filled
Supporters with delight.

They ducked and feinted, spewing words
To bring the other down,
Believing that by doing so,
They’d earn themselves the crown.

The moderator did his best
To keep them both on track
But it was hard because restraint
At least one side did lack.

The answer to “Who won?” depends
On whom you would promote.
We’ll learn the truth in several weeks
When we get out to vote.

A Greek Lunch

Spinach pie and feta cheese
And grape leaves stuffed with rice
Formed the basis for a lunch
That really was so nice.

Eggplant dip, tzatziki sauce
And salad, smartly dressed
And served with olives; who could ever
Sit there unimpressed?

Sliced up chicken, pita bread
Plus other dips and cheese
Made a meal which all could see
Was meant to sate and please.

Of course, there also was dessert
And snacky treats before,
The kind of food that fills you up
But still, you eat some more.

So thank you, Pam, my hostess friend,
For starting off my week
With a lovely luncheon, filled with dishes
Tasty, fresh and Greek!

The Nature Center

Wooded paths with fallen trees
And sunlight dappling through
Provided us with such a lovely
Sunday thing to do.

Deer were munching leaves and barely
Noticed us pass by,
While squirrels scampered from the ground
To branches way up high.

As Henry jumped from stump to stump
(The playground kept the theme),
I made his sister giggle
(Which is every Nana’s dream).

Although I am a city gal,
The forest has its charms,
The better to appreciate
With grandkids in one’s arms.

Hummingbird Farewell

The feeder's full; the hummingbirds
Have likely flown away
To find a better climate
For their wintering foray.

I've read that they fly solo,
Not like others, in a swarm,
To Mexico or Panama
In search of someplace warm.

I wonder how they fare in flight,
Their frenzied wings a'blur
And what they do if storms or winds
Or hurricanes occur.

I'll take my feeder down and dump
The sugar water out 
And hope next summer once again
I'll see them flit about.

Halloween Decorations

The wooden skull and pumpkins
Dangle neatly by the door.
The ghost and owl made of felt
Add much to the decor.

The cat and witch are wishing all
A Happy Halloween
And soon a jack-o-lantern will
Give credence to the scene.

The skeleton quite jauntily
Holds court while on his perch.
The scary part was finding them
From last year - what a search!

Insurance

We buy insurance just in case
An awful thing occurs,
To stop our brains before, within,
An awful image stirs.

There’s auto, fire, travel, health
And worst of all, there’s life,
Supposedly to ease your mind,
Removing any strife.

Of course we need it; all the same,
To me, it conjures dread
And makes me think of all the ways
I might just wind up dead.

At least there’ll be some money, though,
For those who do survive
Because I bought insurance
In the time I was alive.

New Regime

My husband’s worked for many years
For not a cent – he volunteers
At what we think is “his museum;”
Tuesdays were when you could see 'im.

He enjoyed his job as “greeter;”
Meeting people made life sweeter
And he took tremendous pride
In helping those who stepped inside.

For history’s his favorite thing
And so this job was not a fling.
The only time he missed a day
Was when we sometimes went away.

Was he rewarded for his work?
A party? Plaque? Some other perk?
No, sadly, how they’d recompense
Explains my lack of present tense.

A new regime has taken reign.
The “greeter” job they didn’t deign
To stick with; now instead, there’ll be
“Explainers” in each gallery.

But these positions – don’t ask why –
Were open if you did apply
And passed an interview, despite
Your years of service. That’s not right!

You know, of course, how this did go.
My husband got his answer – “No!
No room for you – that means you’re out!”
Could age be what this is about?

We’ll never know and yet, methinks,
This situation really stinks!
I still can’t get my head to wrap
‘Round what, to me, was like a slap.

Chew Toys

In the window of a pet shop
Is a prominent display
Of the type of chew toys dogs would love
For rough and tumble play.

Some are shaped like bones or hot dogs
But to really make pets jump,
There are soft dolls which resemble
Either Hillary or Trump.

As a chew toy, they’re quite brilliant
But I’ll bet they’ll soon be gone
When the pet-less realize they would work
To practice voodoo on!

Walking

I walk like a New Yorker
At a swift and steady pace.
In other towns, my gait might seem
A little out of place.

New Yorkers never saunter,
Rarely ramble, hardly stroll
For on city streets, such movement
Would quite quickly take its toll.

So when out-of-towners visit,
You can spot them right away
As they amble down the sidewalk,
Thinking such a thing’s okay.

It might be just fine in places
Where the pace of life is slow
But a genuine New Yorker
Needs to go-go-go-go-GO!

Last Hurrah

Lots of little moths are flitting
Near the bushes and the trees,
Such a frenzied sort of flutter,
They might stir a little breeze.

Some are solo, but more likely,
Most are traveling in groups,
Do-si-do-ing through the flora,
Doing crazy loop-di-loops.

In some spots, they’re like confetti
Which the wind has set a'whirl.
Guess their instincts have informed them
They’ve just time for one more twirl.

Blowout

Our tire blew on a country road;
We wobbled for a while.
A service station loomed; there was
A stranger with a smile.

"You need some help?" he asked.
"Your tire needs changing, I'm supposing.
They sell them down the road, but
It's two hours after closing."

We'd 40 miles left to drive
At night - that signaled danger -
But we were lucky that we met
This kind and able stranger.

He jacked the car and soon enough
The spare was set in place.
My husband tipped him handsomely;
Surprise was on his face.

"I think I'll play the lottery,"
He said and left his truck.
He hit the store, we waved goodbye
And hoped he'd have our luck.

Sick on Your Birthday

It's a drag to be sick on your birthday,
To stay home or go visit the doc
'Cause you've waited all year
For this day to be here
And you planned on a day that would rock.

For a child, though, the main disappointment
Is the one that his parents must face -
All the party plans scrapped,
Guests whose gifts are all wrapped
And the hassle of new time and place.

Still, some presents are waiting to open;
A balloon floats and there will be cake.
Even sick, it will be
A great day to turn 3;
Any less would just be a mistake.

A Century Past Due

In Judaism, at 13,
A boy becomes a man
With Torah* reading and a party;
That’s the standard plan.

But Yisrael Kristal missed his chance -
The war got in the way –
And then 100 years passed by –
He’s 113 today!

The oldest living male, they say,
Surviving Hitler’s reign,
Though something made him rise above
His Auschwitz grief and pain.

So finally, he’ll take his place
When he will now recite,
A century past due, the prayers
For his Bar Mitzvah** rite.

This story is amazing and
Quite touching, even though,
It’s obvious that he became
A man quite long ago.

*holy book written on a scroll
**the ceremony at which a boy becomes a man

Writing with a Quill

I wrote a small note with a quill.
It’s surprising, but this exists, still.
            Yes, I dipped it in ink;
            Quite a mess, you would think,
But that only applies if you spill.

This was in a post office of yore,
Still in use, but with antique décor;
            So they set up a site
            Letting visitors write
With a feather (for sale in the store!).

On the table were dishes of sand
Meant to sprinkle a bit with your hand
            On your writing, to dry it;
            I think you should try it.
The quill should be more in demand.

Out of Place

En route to dinner in Toronto,
We were slightly shocked
To realize that our street
Was very slowly being blocked.

A film crew started setting up
As we sat down to eat
And that was when we noticed
New York taxis on the street!

I asked what they were filming.
"Suits," he answered in reply.
I've never seen the show
But when it's on next time, I'll try.

We ate our meal while gazing at
A phony New York mile.
Tomorrow, when we're back at home,
We'll think of it and smile.

Crossing Borders

Three museums knocked us out
(Also, lots and lots of walking)
When at last we stopped to eat
And we somehow got to talking

With the couple to our right
(Quite delightful outdoor seating)
When they pointed to our food,
Asking, "What is that you're eating?"

So we offered them a taste -
All agreed it wasn't good -
But a conversation followed,
As we somehow knew it would.

He, like us, was a New Yorker;
She, Canadian, but still,
We had lots of things in common
And we all had time to kill.

They were younger than our kids
But nobody seemed to care,
As we spoke of this and that
In the balmy evening air.

So we chatted, trading stories
As we ate and sipped our beers,
Such an unexpected pleasure,
Crossing borders, lives and years.

TIFF

You visit a city
And find a surprise,
A not-quite-expected
Delight for your eyes.

First time in Toronto,
The streets all a'buzz
With the TIFF* - you, like us,
May not know what it was.

A film festival, both
World-class and renowned.
Of course, paparazzi
Are hanging around.

We purchased some tickets
And now we're in line
And whether the movie
Is blah or divine...

It's lovely to do
What we couldn't at home,
Which is follow that adage,
You know - "When in Rome..."

*Toronto International Film Festival

In Need of a Hook

A women's bathroom needs a hook
Though oftentimes it's missing
And so our bags must sit in gook
While we are stuck there pissing.

Since men don't have this issue
They don't even need to hurry
And, without the need for tissue
They, too, lack that extra worry.

My suggestion? A reversal.
Let the menfolk hold our purses
And you'd hear, from this rehearsal,
Quite a chorus full of curses.

Sangria

I loved it when in college,
Which is when I did imbibe it,
Though syrupy and fruity
Is how many would describe it.

At parties, in a punch bowl,
It was poured and filled with fruit -
Mostly oranges and apples,
Sometimes tangerines to boot.

Though nowadays it's rarely served
(Since things in vogue may pass),
There is a local restaurant
Where I enjoy a glass.

It brings me back to years ago
When life was how it was;
The memories and alcohol
Provide a pleasant buzz.

Back to School

Brand-new backpacks, brand-new shoes;
Headbands topped with flowers.
Parents trying to enthuse
About the coming hours.

Photos taken, kisses swapped;
Pupils all converging.
Quick goodbyes as doors are propped;
Teachers gently urging.

Voices chatter, stairs are climbed;
First day jitters rising.
All of us once likewise primed
Should be sympathizing.

Ambiguous

My dress is either black or brown;
I really am not sure.
It’s covered, too, in polka dots,
A part of its allure.

When choosing shoes and jewelry
To match, I go with brown,
A choice I reaffirm in mirrors
Or when looking down.

Yet once I noticed someone else
Who wore the dress as well.
Her shoes were black and yes, it matched,
As far as I could tell.

I’ve had this problem just this once
But what it’s clarified
Is next time I won’t buy a dress
Ambiguously dyed.

A Losing Battle

My husband tapped a scooter
And it fell down on the street.
No damage done – a doorman
Stood it back up on its “feet.”

But later on, our doorbell rang,
A policeman standing by,
Demanding information
So my husband did comply.

Seems the owner of the scooter
Learned what happened and was pissed.
Some damages (invisible)
Were done, he did insist.

He bought the cops some coffee
And a summons then was writ
For inflicting “harm” and leaving,
Thereby not reporting it.

My son says we should fight it –
It’s a bogus trumped-up charge,
But oftentimes collusion
And authority loom large.

When guilt becomes a contest
Based on what somebody said,
It’s easier to pay the fine
And suck it up instead.

On Labor Day

On Labor Day we celebrate
The workers of the world,
Quite often with a big parade
Where banners are unfurled.

But there’s another Labor Day
Which every mother’s sworn
Is more important; it’s the day
On which a baby’s born.

For labor’s a generic term
Although, for what it’s worth,
The toughest labor I have known
Is that of giving birth.

So happy Labor Day to all
No matter what your work,
Whether brand-new wailing baby
Or parade’s your well-earned perk.

Ponytail

I haven't had a ponytail
Since I was very young
And even then, most likely,
Into braids my hair was hung.

When frizz set in, I chopped my locks
And thus the die was cast,
So ponytails and pigtails were
A remnant of the past.

But when I see a jogger
With her ponytail a'bounce,
Its jaunty whipping of the air
Seems like it does announce:

Just check me out! I'm oh, so cool
And confident and fit.
So feast your jealous eyes -
I'm the epitome of IT!

Newborn Piglets

Seven newborn piglets
Clambered greedily to suck,
Six succeeding in their mission
While the runt was out of luck.

As their mother lay, exhausted,
All her babes knew what to do
Though the smallest was prevented,
By his sibs, in getting through.

We, the visitors, felt helpless
And were sounding the alarm,
But the workers weren't bothered
At the Quiet Valley Farm.

For, though "Charlotte's Web" thoughts hovered,
We hoped all would be okay
Since the farmers seemed quite trusting,
Letting Nature lead the way.

Under the Couch

Under the couch
(I can see, if I crouch)
Is a puzzle's green square.
(How'd it ever get there?)

There's a paperback book
And I'm sure, if I look,
There'll be more than just dust;
(Pegs and Legos, I trust.)

When a toddler's around
There is sure to be found
Lots of stuff 'neath the couch;
(And to this, I can vouch!)

Sidewalk Sun

With sidewalk chalk, I drew a sun
Which Henry had requested
To match the clouds and moon and stars
I'd already invested.

But, "Make a sad sun" was his wish
To balance out one smiling
And so I drew a bright blue frown,
The height of Nana-styling.

He gazed at it before he said,
"This sun does not look right.
He isn't sad - he's grumpy!"
To my absolute delight.

My artistic skills aside, you would
Need eyes just like a hawk
To distinguish sad from grumpy
On the driveway, drawn in chalk.