In Need of a Pen

While on the bus, he tapped my arm
And asked me for a pen.
I gave him one and realized
I would not see it again.

He looked to be a homeless guy;
The pen was old and cheap
And had he asked, I would have
Told him it was his to keep.

A few stops later, pen in hand,
He found another seat
And never glanced my way again,
Our interchange complete.

I don’t give coins or dollars
When a beggar makes a plea
But the pen request resounded
With the writing part of me.

Best Picture

So what exactly happened
When that final name was read?
Is it true that the presenters
Got a mixed-up card instead?

The accountants took the blame, of course,
But was the fault their own?
And the host accused himself, but really,
How could he have known?

Both the stars who did the blurting 
Were insistent they’d been fooled
And it’s possible they were and thus,
Unfairly ridiculed.

Still, to all of us who watched,
We’ll never know how it occurred.
Just another case of truth and fiction’s
Borders being blurred.

Perspective

If I wanted a reminder
That my life is far from bad
Then I got one when I walked right by
A boy out with his dad.

He was sitting in a stroller,
Looking old for where he sat,
When his father, very gently,
Made adjustments to his hat.

It was then that I took notice,
With the parent’s tender care,
That, most likely, chemo had deprived
The boy of any hair.

How can I complain of problems
When confronted with such grief?
From another man’s perspective,
We face ours with much relief.

Rising to the Occasion

When challenges present themselves,
Which happens, after all,
We’re confronted with two choices –
We can rise or we can fall.

If our fear or nerves may cause us
To feel paralyzed or numb
And avoid the confrontation,
Then of course we will succumb.

Yet by tackling the problem,
There’s a chance we might succeed
And the knowledge that we’ve done so
May be just the boost we need.

So it’s always worth the effort
For, no matter how it ends,
There’s a prospect of improvement
That each enterprise extends.

Imitation Spring

I saw a cherry tree in bloom;
It must be quite confused.
This imitation spring fools some
But others have refused.

So short-sleeved shirts have made the scene
While certain coats stay zipped,
Though temps have broken records
And at night they haven't dipped.

With March on the horizon
Guess it's not an awful thing
To give in and shuck the jackets
And pretend it's really spring.

Picture This

I set out with only one aim –
To purchase a new picture frame.
     I knew the right size
     But to my surprise
Not one seemed to call out my name.

I finally chose one and paid,
Hoping when I got home, I’d be swayed
     But that didn’t work out
     (Should have trusted my doubt!)
So my picture is still not displayed.

Now I have to get back to the store
Which, to me, is a not-so-fun chore
     But I’ll try for take two
     Hoping out of the blue
I’ll find something not noticed before.

Powerless

I'm writing this by lantern-light.
(My building has no power.)
Con Edison*'s the culprit
And we're on the 16th hour.

No TV, no computer
And I cannot charge my phone.
Ten stories in my building
So I'm not in this alone.

They served breakfast in the lobby
And at first, it felt like fun;
But our lights should be back on by now,
My patience gone and done.

I made a beer run to the store
To buy some nice and cold.
It helped a little but this lack
Of power's getting old!

*New York City's power company

Conversing Solo

The way to spot a wacko
Once was really very clear.
He’d be in a conversation
When nobody else was near.

But today, you can’t rely on
Simply how some folks appear.
If a person is conversing solo,
Peek inside his ear.

More than likely, he is chatting
On a cell phone he can hear,
Getting signals that are beaming
From within the atmosphere.

This is helpful to the crazies
For they do not have to fear
They’ll attract undue attention
In this brave new tech frontier.

Presidents' Day

Schools are closed, there is no mail
And stores hold special sales.
To honor our first president,
That’s what this day entails.

Though technically, our 16^th prez
Is celebrated, too.
To make a Monday holiday,
That’s what they chose to do.

The 40-something other men
Who served the USA
As presidents were not awarded
Their own special day.

So sorry Adams, Jefferson,
James Madison, Monroe,
John Quincy Adams, Jackson
And Van Buren – all are no.

Poor Harrison and Tyler,
Polk and Taylor, Pierce and Grant,
Fillmore, Johnson and Buchanan,
Hayes and Garfield – no, you can’t.

Arthur, Cleveland and McKinley,
Harrison and Teddy R.,
Taft and Wilson, Harding, Coolidge,
Hoover, also FDR…

Truman, Eisenhower, JFK,
LBJ and Nixon, Ford,
Carter, Reagan, both the Bushes
And Bill Clinton – not on board.

Last, no day off for Obama.
As to he who’s right now serving,
I can’t think of anyone who might
Be any less deserving.

A Fine-Tuned Machine

Calling all tuners!
It’s time to convene
To evaluate Trump and
His “fine-tuned machine.”

That’s the claim that he’s making
But most seem to feel
His machine might be missing
A cog or a wheel…

Or a lot more than that.
It just makes the blood boil
And to fix things, dear tuners,
You’ll need more than oil.

So get started right now
And if we are in luck,
This machine can be salvaged
Before we’re all…..stuck!

Waving Cat

You see them perched in windows
Of so many types of stores
But really, they don’t blend at all
In anyone’s decors.

They range in size from tiny
To those taking lots of space,
All with the same expression – blank!
Imprinted on each face.

One waving paw moves up and down
Ad nauseam, to me,
I guess to greet the passersby
In perpetuity.

It blows my mind how such a fad
Gains traction and persists.
My hat goes off to every shop
With keeper who resists.

Slinky

It slunk downstairs as we all watched,
Delighted and amazed.
Of course, it couldn't climb back up
But none of us were fazed.

'Cause it was also fun to see it
Puddle hand to hand,
The back and forth so cool, though why
I still don't understand.

They still sell Slinkys in the stores
But silver is passe.
They're plastic now and every color's
There in the display.

It warms my heart, though, that a toy
My childhood self once knew
Was cherished all those years ago
And by my grandkids, too.

Headgear

Ear muffs perch on little heads
In poof or sparkly style,
While furry pom poms bounce on hats
Engendering a smile.

Hoods with fuzzy fake-fur trim
Are pulled ‘round reddened faces
As well as ski or baseball caps,
Which stay in men’s good graces.

Winter headgear keeps us warm
But fashion counts, as well,
Until we step inside to find
Our hairstyles look like hell!

The Matinee

The women far outnumber
All the ticket-holding men
And they’re decked out in their jewels
They haven’t worn since who-knows-when.

Their outfits are forgiving,
Hiding several extra pounds
And their make-up makes them glow,
Although some wrinkling abounds.

They’re delighted just to be there
On an outing with some friends,
All who rush out to the bathroom
Just as soon as Act I ends.

Most obey and shut their cell phones
And their candies they unwrap,
But there’s always one whose ringtone
Jingles loudly from her lap.

When the curtain falls, they bundle
In their coats, all set to go
And with hugs they part until
Next book club, mah jongg game or show.

Love Letter

Today’s the day, I guess you knew,
To send your love a billet-doux;*
But if he doesn’t, too, or won’t,
Then send to him a billet-don’t.

*love letter (pronounced bill-ee-doo)

Nailing It

Tina Fey as Palin;
Alec Baldwin’s Trump:
Both coaxed many smiles
From a nation in a slump.

Add to that McCarthy
With a spot-on riff on Spicer.
Laughing on these gloomy days
Just couldn’t feel much nicer!

Mechanical Pony

It’s mounted in my neighborhood,
A market’s one-time lure
To coax a customer with kids
To shop inside the store.

I haven’t seen it used but once
But patiently it waits
Until it’s fed the money
That the coin slot indicates.

And then I guess the gears kick in
To simulate a ride,
Quite thrilling for the city child
Who’s happily astride.

Yet much more time’s spent frozen,
Looking lonely and forlorn,
Its fading paint a testament
To all the butts it’s borne.

A remnant from another age,
This pony was designed
To entertain the children of
An era left behind.

Gigantic Ugly Teddy Bears

They take up all the window space
In garish pinks and reds –
Gigantic ugly teddy bears,
The kind of gift one dreads.

They aren’t cute or cuddly
But this is no surprise –
Whoever put them out there
Thought that they’d impress by size.

I pass the store each day and guessed
A few would disappear
Since we all know the holiday
Of Valentine’s is near.

Yet still they sit, but not because
Of reasons you’d assume –
Apartments in the city
Simply do not have the room!

Front Row Seats

The squirrels scamper in the snow
So when they climb the tree,
A dust of whiteness flutters down
Like lace embroidery.

It settles back from whence it came
Until the game resumes
And once again, the threat of havoc
From each squirrel looms.

I'm watching from the windows
On a bright white sunny day
And enjoying, gratis, front row seats
To Nature's matinee.

De-Snowing the Car

Start the engine; hit defrost.
Find your scraper brush.
Swipe the windows first as you
Get rid of all the mush.

Clean the mirrors and the lights;
Don’t forget the roof.
You can get a ticket
With the snow up top as proof.

Get behind the steering wheel;
Hit the gas and move
Back and forth until you’ve made
A likely exit groove.

Shut the engine; lock the doors.
Some peace of mind you’ve bought
Until the snow plows block you in,
Your efforts all for naught.

The Cabinet

The cabinet’s filling
With nothing that’s healthy,
All lacking in judgment
But goodness – they’re wealthy!

Yet just like my kitchen
There’s one thing that’s great –
They all will get tossed
On their “Best Used By” date!

February Seventh

Today’s a date I won’t forget
For it’s the day when we first met.
The sparks were there and yes, they flew
When you saw me and I saw you.

We knew inside that we would last;
Now 40 plus 2 years have passed.
Though age and stress have left their mark
They haven’t doused that primal spark.

I picture us so long ago,
Amazed at how we didn’t know
The ups and downs that we would weather,
Slogging through this life – together.

The Neighborhood Gyms

The neighborhood gyms
Have huge windows so we
Can observe all the workouts
And want what we see.

We’re supposed to feel guilty
We’re not in there, too
So our abs and our pecs
Could be proudly on view.

But as I pass them by
It's not envy I feel
For the pumping and bouncing
Don’t have much appeal.

Though what strikes me is that
Back when youth was my guide
I most likely'd be one
Of those athletes inside.

Now I wonder while watching
Them cycle and spin
If they realize they’ll soon
Be the ones gazing in.

Game Time

The stores are stocked with chips and beer
And chicken wings galore
For munching during Super Bowl.
Well, who could ask for more?

I’m not a football fan, but yes,
I’ll watch it for a while
In hopes that a commercial
Will induce a laugh or smile.

Tonight at game time, most TV’s
Will show this football fare
But as to who will win, my guess
Is very few will care.

The Radio

We listen to the radio
At home or in the car.
It's really such good company
No matter where we are.

We flip the stations back and forth
From classical to jazz,
With rock & roll contributing
In that cool way it has.

The bathroom has a radio
That's set to just the news,
With traffic and the weather
And occasional reviews.

Though some prefer the quiet 
We love music in the air
And the trusty AM/FM
Does its job to keep it there.

A Job for Life

A job that's appointed for life
Is bound to cause some people strife
     For over the years
     Annoyance appears;
That goes, too, for husband and wife.

So the Justices of the High Court
Who have no one to whom they report
     Should be forced to bow out
     And relinquish their clout
Well before they've a final retort.

Though if Ginsburg lives 20 more years
It might quiet a few of my fears
     For if Gorsuch gets in
     The Republicans win
And I'll drown all my sorrows in beers.

Entitled

A book requires a title
As a movie does, or play.
We take the title to a car
When we no longer pay.

A royal has a title
Whether king or prince or queen
And Mr., Ms. or Mrs. mark us
On the postal scene.

Some people feel entitled
To much more than they deserve,
But what we’d call them oftentimes
Stays hidden in reserve.

A Nickel a Can

They paw through the garbage,
Retrieving the cans
And bottles to get the deposit
Which, likely, have come from
Apartments nearby where more wait
In a pantry or closet.

A nickel a can, which
Means nothing to most
Is the source of their urban survival.
The beer and the soda
We drink and we toss, unaware
They await its arrival.

Imagine depending
On other folks’ trash
To furnish the means to keep living.
If only more thought of
The souls such as these,
Perhaps there’d be more to our giving.