Old Friends

There’s a comfort level with old friends
That’s like a well-worn shirt.
It is cozy and indulgent
Like your favorite dessert.

There is history and background
Stretching back for many years
With events you’ve shared, both joyous
And imbued with grief and tears.

There’s no worry ‘bout appearance
And no need to pull a punch,
Just some catch-up and warm feelings
For a most delightful lunch.

Earl's

There is no Earl at Earl’s;
It’s just a name that’s meant to tease.
It represents East Harlem
And the menu’s beer and cheese.

It doesn’t call attention
To itself, so all who go
Are regulars or those who heard
From others in the know.

Six beers on tap that rotate
And the most delicious bread –
A toasted sourdough that’s served
With cheddar, chopped to spread.

Some other sandwich items, salads,
Mac & cheese and soup –
A perfect place to go alone,
In pairs or with a group.

En route from a museum show,
No better place can please
For comfort, sustenance and brews
Than Earl’s, for beer and cheese!

Ball Boys

They run to catch an errant ball
Then crouch or stand stock still
Until they need to pass a spare
Or towel, if you will.

They’re meant to be invisible;
They do their madcap dash
And rush back to their places
Quicker than a camera flash.

Their caps are meant to cover up
Their crewcuts, dreads or curls
And nowadays, to be PC,
Some ball boys might be girls!

(written while watching the men’s final
at the Australian Open Tennis Match)

Segue to Smooth

A day that segues into smooth
From bumpy at its start
Is like a prize awarded
For not crumbling apart.

The smiles are that much sweeter;
The vibes all silk and satin.
The energy as upbeat
As the best parts of Manhattan.

Without a little snag or two
To bring about disfavor,
The smoothness wouldn’t be the same
We’d write about or savor.

Alternative Facts

The earth is flat. We'll never die
And unicorns exist.
Olympic athletes never cheat;
Decorum won't be missed.

The sun did shine when Donald Trump
Took office; folks all bowed
Because they formed the largest yet
Inauguration crowd.

When Colbert talked of "truthiness,"
He meant it as a joke.
When lies disguise as facts, our dreams
Will all go up in smoke.

Pressure

The icon on the dashboard lit up,
Giving us the sign
That pressure in the tires
Was a little out of line.

We checked them all; they looked okay
But somehow, knowing that
A problem had been noted made me
Worry 'bout a flat.

A tire center added air;
The icon disappeared.
We didn't have the situation
I'd, for nothing, feared.

The cars today are very smart
But what they do not know
Is the way my pressure rises
When the tire pressure's low.

The X-Files

I watched it 20 years ago
But much to my surprise,
“The X-Files” has returned and my
Affection still applies.

It seems a bit old-fashioned
(Their computers and their phones!)
Yet the stories still seem possible,
With aliens and clones.

The attraction of the show, though,
Both today and way back when,
Is the Scully-Mulder chemistry,
A treat to see again.

For when actors play a perfect pair,
That partnership is gold
And no matter how much time goes by,
Their magic won’t grow old.

Draining the Reserves

I used to be much nicer.
I once was really sweet.
I’d smile at every stranger
I’d cross paths with on the street.

But as I’ve aged, I’ve noticed
All that charm in my reserves
Has evaporated, since so many
Folks get on my nerves.

Like the pushy, the obnoxious,
Those too loud or dense or rude –
They’ve demolished my demeanor
And displaced my attitude.

There’s a reason older people
Turn cantankerous and cross
For experience drains patience,
Which is everybody’s loss.

Steelers Fans

I'm sorry for the Steelers fans
(My sister and her spouse)
For disappointment must now rule
Their beings and their house.

The Packers fans are sad as well,
So close but no cigar,
A pity to be unsuccessful
Having come so far.

I really couldn't care which teams
Are Super Bowl contending,
But I'm delighted that the
Football season will be ending!

Watching Football

We're watching football, while the wind
Is kicking up outside.
A storm has been predicted,
Says the weather channel guide.

The sun's still shining so we sit,
Enjoying chips and beer,
Ignoring all the signs that
A tornado may come near.

Although I'm not a football fan,
We'll watch despite the weather,
'Cause it's a rare occurrence
When my family gets together.

Baby on the Plane

Wasn't I the lucky one
To find that I was seated
Next to mom and 6 month baby,
So to this I thus was treated:

Lots of crying, lots of kvetching,
Lots of wiggling around,
All while trapped inside an airplane
Miles and miles above the ground.

With no books or toys or teddys
To amuse or hold attention,
Mom tapped fingers on the window;
Oh, and I forgot to mention...

That she changed the baby's diaper
On the fold-down eating tray.
But at last, the mini-screen
And cartoon channel saved the day.

Though the mom sure had her hands full,
For 2 hours plus, oh, gee,
Still I hope when I return they won't
Be sitting next to me!

Inauguration Day

I couldn't watch; I plugged my ears.
(My husband turned it on.)
A sadness filled me up; I fear
My way of life is gone.

The new administration
Will not welcome folk like me
And in the next 4 years we can't
Predict how things will be.

I haven't felt this out of touch
Since protesting the war
(Viet Nam, while in college);
I was angry to the core.

But now that rage is tempered
By despondency and fear
For I never ever thought
That such a thing could happen here.

Worry

From the time a child is born, you are
Besieged with such a flurry
Of sensations that you never knew,
The main one being worry.

Of course, there’s love and yes, it feels
As deep as any ocean,
But worry reigns as king and trumps
That sweetest of emotion.

There’s nothing to prepare you
But each parent comprehends
That, surprisingly, this worry
For an offspring never ends.

On His Lap

The child sat on his lap
(It was her father, I assumed)
Until the light turned green and then
Across the street they zoomed.

She giggled as he mussed her hair;
His smile was wide and bright
And anyone could see there was
A mutual delight.

But as they passed I noticed
Something one not often sees –
The wheelchair gave a glimpse there were
No legs below his knees.

A tender scene for me, but what
That poignancy reveals
Is a heart defines a daddy,
Whether on his legs or wheels.

The Screen

A child of maybe 2 was strapped
Into a stroller seat,
Too young to read or understand
An email, text or tweet.

Yet clutched in both her chubby hands
A cell phone had her eye,
Her focus so intent its purpose
No one could deny.

Her mom or sitter thought, of course,
She’s occupied and rapt,
A state not often found except
For maybe when she napped.

Yet she missed out on all the sights
They passed upon their walk
And cartoon images replaced
The humanness of talk.

Technology deserves its place
In life, but it’s too bad
When the screen is a companion
Which, to me, is very sad.

Picking a Date

Try to pick a date to meet
A few retired friends
And find it near impossible
For everything depends…

On travel plans or visits
With the kids from out-of-town
Or babysitting grandkids
Or the dentist (for a crown)…

Or tennis games or theater tix
Or else a craft-type class
In beading or in quilting
Or in knitting or stained glass.

How wonderful to have the time
Without a job to tether
But how complicated just to plan
A day to get together!

Bookmark

A bookmark separates the future
From the part that’s passed.
The pages that it’s stuck between
Remind us what came last.

Each day we live’s a bookmark then;
We know what’s come before
But what comes next may bring us
Brand-new vistas to explore…

Or maybe not. No way to tell
What’s waiting in the wings.
We turn the page, the bookmark moves,
No matter what it brings.

Called to Action

They've been sitting, primed and ready -
Just a'rarin,' as they say -
But they weren't called to action
'Til I summoned them today.

For the ones they are replacing 
Have provided great support,
Though as age has done its number
Lately they have come up short.

So I made the switch, just hoping
My resolve would not get weaker 
As I slowly tied the laces
On each brand-new walking sneaker!

Sock

I’m watching on the monitor
As Hadley* keeps amused
Playing with her pulled-off sock
(An item often she’s refused).

Awakened from her nap, she seems
Relaxed and quite content
(Although I don’t know how that time
So quickly came and went).

I wonder what she’s thinking
As that sock gets gently tossed
But I envy her the innocence
We older folk have lost.

*my 17 month old granddaughter

Awake

My mother didn’t work, yet still
Each day she took a nap.
As dinnertime approached, we woke her
With a little tap.

Years later, after she was gone,
I thought about the “rest”
She needed every afternoon;
She likely was depressed.

I’ve lived more years than she attained;
My energy is sapping.
Perhaps my mother spooked me
But I won’t give in to napping.

I guess that’s why, most evenings,
If I sit and watch TV,
I struggle to stay conscious,
Though my eyelids don’t agree.

It’s foolish to attempt to prove
I’m up and not pretending
Though with all my shows I never am
Awake to see the ending!

In the Shell

When snacking on some nuts, I much
Prefer them in the shell
For there’s a bit of work
That cracking open does compel.

It slows my munching tempo
And besides, it’s kinda fun,
Plus the proof of what you ate
Is piled before you when you’re done.

Pistachios require just hands
While walnuts need a cracker,
A handy tool to have in case
You know an almond snacker.

It’s easier, of course, to buy
A bag of just the meats
But to me, the cracking of the shells
Makes nuts such special treats.

Color-Coded

I have a friend whose closets,
She once told me, were arranged
By color which, since she was young,
She’d never really changed.

The strangest part, to me at least,
Was what her clothes did lack,
For all her wardrobe was in shades
Of navy, gray and black.

She didn’t own a shirt in green
Or pants in brown or rust
And sweaters knit in purple
Were a no-no, too, I trust.

Although I did admire
How she organized her storing,
Her clothing choices, neat and chic,
To me were also boring!

Dead and Gone

Despite the ways that you may strive,
With photos or with stories,
To capture someone once alive,
Describing all her glories…

It can’t be done; it doesn’t work
For everyone’s uniqueness 
(That charming or annoying quirk,
That inner strength or weakness)

Is something we can’t translate
Or convey to make her real,
No matter what our mandate
Or emotions we might feel.

A person gone stays living
In our memories and hearts
But there’s no good way of giving
Strangers more than running starts.

We try to pass a little one –
“Your grandma was like this…”
Yet once a person’s dead and gone,
There’s too much we would miss.

Smoking

I gave up smoking years ago
And somehow, all along,
Each time I lit a cigarette,
It somehow just felt wrong.

I didn’t smoke for very long
And wonder why I started.
I guess I thought adulthood
Was the image it imparted.

For smokers nowadays, the laws
Have really made it tough.
So many places don’t allow
A person set to puff.

The last I heard, apartments
Won’t let renters smoke inside.
The health risks and the odors
Can no longer be denied.

It’s hard for me to reconcile
(Not even one small bit)
That I used to be a smoker –
Though I’m mighty glad I quit!

Snowflakes

If every snowflake’s different,
Which is what I’ve always heard,
Then their patterns, if you counted,
Would have numbers quite absurd.

So it wouldn’t be impossible,
In theory, if we say
That, like twins or triplets, some of them
Have matching DNA.

There is just no way to prove it
But I’ve always been a skeptic
Of that snowflake speculation
And I pooh-pooh the acceptic.

Mr. Potato Head

The eyes fit into little holes;
The nose, ears, mouth do, too.
Of course, you have some choices
But not more than just a few.

The parts are made of plastic
Though way back in my own youth,
The body was a real potato - 
That's the doggone truth.

The toy came with accoutrements - 
Each pointed, like a stud,
Which you stuck with wild abandon
Into any uncooked spud.

I told this to my grandkids' mom
Who, when her own mom spoke
Of using a potato, she
Assumed it was a joke.

But creativity was once
So simple, we've forgotten.
The only drawback was
Our masterpiece, at times, went rotten.

Messy

The morning may be messy
For the people who commute,
With highways slick with ice
Before the snowplows clear the route.

For those who will be driving
Some anxiety’s at hand,
‘Cause Nature may disrupt
The travel that you might have planned.

Alternatives start floating –
Do you heed or take a chance?
The young may risk it but the wise
Bow down to circumstance.

How Things Go

The more we age
The less we know
About the world;
That’s how things go.

Of course we’re up
On history.
The present, though’s
A mystery.

As for the future,
This is true:
Both young and old
Don’t have a clue.

Crumby

I mailed out home-baked cookies;
The recipients got crumbs.
Though really, when you bite a cookie,
That’s what it becomes.

It wasn’t my intention,
(I knew not what I was doing
When I wrapped and packed the cookies)
But I saved them all some chewing.

Now of course, the thought’s what matters
And the taste, I think, was yummy.
Still, despite all of my efforts,
I sent gifts considered crummy.

The 86th Street Q Station

The escalator’s very steep,
Enough to make me nervous.
There’ll be a lot of stairs to climb
When it is out of service.

The platform’s bright and spacious
And the walls are filled with art,
Mosaics well worth checking out
Before you must depart.

The surfaces are gleaming,
Clean as anything brand-new.
The bathrooms might be also;
I declined to take a view.

The subway that we’ve waited for
Is really up and running,
Results of which New Yorkers find
Miraculous and stunning.

I wonder, though, how long we’ll see
This Eden underground,
For nothing fresh remains that way
When mankind does abound.

Lost Sole

I saw a high-heeled shoe today
Abandoned in the street
And wondered how its owner walked
With such uneven feet.

Perhaps if she were fairly drunk,
(Enough to lose a heel)
Her teeter-totter gait might not
Be something she could feel.

I hope that her companion
Was a gallant type of fella
So both shoe and gal would find
Their soul-mates, just like Cinderella.