One Small Zinger

You buy some tickets, make some plans,
Anticipate an outing
But always with an asterisk
For naturally, you’re doubting…

‘Cause life throws curve balls and you can’t
Be looking for straight pitches.
“The best-laid plans,” the saying goes,
Are filled with unknown glitches.

And so you cancel, with a shrug,
The strikeout one small zinger,
As fate delights in pointing
With its well-known fickle finger.

Gnats

A morning walk, a muggy day,
A little warm for not-yet-May;
The country air both fresh and still -
A pleasant outing, right? Until...

The gnats attacked, around my face
And soon they weaseled everyplace -
Into my ears, beneath my hat,
Along my scalp - I squashed some flat...

But every squished one brought ten more,
Which kept arriving by the score.
I waved my hands, I fanned my cap
Yet nothing worked except a slap.

Some pests are worse for these don't bite
Or sting or keep you up at night
But barring that, I'll bet that stats
Would prove that gnats can drive you bats!

Sprinter

My headache is a sprinter
And my Advil likes to trot,
But I'm a desperate sucker
So I give it one more shot.

The finish line approaches,
As I am well aware.
I'd hoped for a conclusion
Like the tortoise and the hare.

Alas, though, it's the headache
That has got the Advil beat
And I will chalk it up to yet
Another sad defeat.

Hide and Seek

The words are playing hide and seek
And I’ve no clue where I should peek.
My situation’s not unique
But confidence is shrinking…

I fear I’m on a losing streak;
Without a paddle, up the creek.
My brain a rowboat with a leak
And I am slowly sinking…

I used to have a fine technique
Yet I’m in need of quite a tweak
Though I’ll provide my own critique,
The consequence of thinking…

Vessel

A baby is a vessel
And each caretaker proceeds
To slowly fill him up with what
That person thinks he needs.

So while some will teach him numbers,
Colors and the ABC’s,
Others may tap into music
Or identifying trees.

There’ll be teachers for the extras –
Tennis, swimming, Tae Kwon Do
And instructors in the schools
Dispensing what he needs to know.

But the ones who are the closest
Fill that vessel with what counts
And the lessons that are learned,
Of course, in varying amounts

Are the values that will be absorbed
For perpetuity
As each drip into that vessel
Forms the person he will be.

Number 261

Number 261* ran a pretty good race.
Though she couldn’t have won it, she set a fine pace.
Her hat hid her hair but if you’d seen her face
You’d have realized she wasn’t a guy.

The year – ’67, a marathon run
In Boston, and soon after it'd begun
Officials decided her racing was done
And her gender the answer to “Why?”

For the course was for men; anyone called “her”
Had to skip it or hide who they really were.
K.V. Switzer she signed as, so they’d infer
That a male was the one to apply.

She resisted attempts to drag her away
And completed those miles, ignoring the fray.
Yet it took 5 more years, quite a lengthy delay,
‘Til the rule-makers had to comply.

Now at 70, Switzer, still true to form,
Ran in Boston, to welcomes both loud and warm.
Her gutsiness once took the world by storm
And her triumph no one can deny.

*Kathrine Switzer’s Boston Marathon number
  in both the 1967 and 2017 races

Rotten Tomatoes

The critics gave it 91,
The audience much lower,
A fact that only would confuse
The average movie-goer.

Though ratings are subjective,
They help us to decide
If certain cinematic feats
Are really worth the ride.

The timing worked and so we went;
To me, it came up short.
My husband, though, concurred with
What the critics did report.

I guess, to me at least, it seemed
To make a lot of sense
That 59’s the score awarded
By the audience.

Keeping Connected

To keep connected
There’s a place
For phone calls, texts
Or face to face.

A drop-in with
A quick embrace
May be enough
To prove that case.

Though brevity
Might not replace
A longer visit’s
Lazy pace

The simple act
Of touching base
Means thoughts of you
They won’t erase.

Beached

Seals are washing up on shore
In places they've not been before
So people are on high alert 
To let them be; they might be hurt.

A friend of mine lives by a beach
Where this occurred; she did beseech
Authorities to intervene.
For hours, no such help was seen.

The seal was struggling on shore 
And his prognosis seemed quite poor.
When experts showed the next day morn
A tiny burst of hope was born.

Alas, although the pros did try,
It was too late; the seal did die.
A sad conclusion, this defeat;
Some creatures we're not meant to meet.

Going to Bed

Children battle bedtime
'Cause the day is so much fun
That it's hard to call it quits
When the playing's not quite done.

It's the opposite with grown-ups
For the prospect of some sleep
Means our minds will catch a breather
From the burdens that we keep.

So we listen as the grandkids
Fight requests to go to bed
When there isn't any place that we
Would rather be instead.

Checklist

Here’s a little checklist
If you think you’re getting old.
Check off fewer than a couple
And perhaps you’ll be consoled.

Are you losing hair or finding it
In places unexpected?
Do you crave a turtleneck
So extra skin goes undetected?

Do you need a nap by 4 p.m.

And doze by the TV?
Do you wake up nightly, several times,
Because you have to pee?

Does a cough or cold last weeks and weeks
While energy is lagging?
Do the wrinkles in the mirror
Make your spirits feel like sagging?

Do you read a book or see a film
And then cannot recall it?
Does technology require help
‘Cause you cannot install it?

If you’ve answered yes to most of these,
Then, sadly, you’re among
Those of us, including Dylan,
Who are not “forever young.”

Some Noises

Some noises startle, jolt or jar
While others soothe or soften.
We perk up for the new but tune out
Those we hear quite often.

To locals, city sirens make
The tiniest impression
But visitors consider them
A barbarous transgression.

The hum of traffic rolling by
To urbanites equates
With cricket chirps or chickadees
In countryside debates.

The noises that surround us
Are as varied as our homes
Or the subjects and the wording
Of a plethora of poems.

Overalls Redux

In college I wore overalls
And loved the way they felt
When hanging loose or even better,
Tightened with a belt.

The Army/Navy store was where
I bought them, very cheap.
They lasted many years until
They got too old to keep.

But that has now been rectified
For I have had the urge
To buckle on some overalls;
Today I made the splurge.

Much pricier than they once were
But denim nonetheless
And in the mirror was a grin
I couldn’t quite suppress.

I left my twenties long ago
And youthfulness I lack
But in my brand-new overalls
It feels like going back.

Those Little Things

You needn’t win the lottery,
Get married or give birth
To have a day that lifts you up
And makes you feel your worth.

For little things are what may paint
A smile upon your face –
A grandchild’s voice, some daffodils,
A legal parking place.

A lunch with friends, a brand-new hat,
Your favorite type of book,
A walk along the river,
Yummy food you didn’t cook.

An ice-cold beer, an ice cream cone,
A bike ride in the breeze,
The perfect music for your mood
(And no one disagrees).

Every day cannot be special
But those lovely little things
Are the pick-me-ups that matter,
Smoothing out life’s daily dings.

Retirement

My friend just filed her papers,
After years and years of service,
To retire; she’s excited
But she’s also very nervous.

I remember just that feeling,
Worried that without my work
I would lose my sense of self and dwell
Where listlessness does lurk.

But that never really happened.
Of endeavors, there’s no lack
And I’m thrilled to not be working,
Never ever looking back.

My career was quite fulfilling;
I gave all that I could give
Yet since I have been retired,
I’m delighted just to live.

In the Blink of an Eye

In the blink of an eye
Things can suddenly change
And the older I get
Then the less that seems strange.

For in life nothing's certain
To any degree
So the ups and the downs
Switch eventually.

Do not wallow or gloat
Though it's tempting; know why?
'Cause you'll feel the reverse
In the blink of an eye. 

Reading

Reading is, to me, a pleasure,
Something I will always treasure.
It’s the way I start my day
When I’m at home or far away.

A novel takes me to a place
Where I am in a different space,
Absorbed in lives I’ve never known
With other problems than my own.

The New York Times brings me the news
Which in my poems I often use
And magazines on trains, I’ve found,
Help me forget I’m underground.

Of all the reading that I do,
The one I savor, through and through,
Is done aloud with heed supplied
By grandchild sitting by my side.

Perchance to Sleep

My husband’s back is aching
And so what he thinks will fix it
Is to buy a brand-new mattress,
Though at first I tried to nix it.

Ours is really not quite old enough
To so dissatisfy
And we differ on the type
If we decided, thus, to buy.

Once we tried the TempurPedic

And he fell asleep much faster,
Feeling rested when he woke
But as for me – a true disaster.

I spent hours toss and turning,
Stealing glances at the clock
For to me, that mattress felt
Like I was lying on a rock.

So today, we placed an order
For a mattress sold online,
One supposed to grant us comfort
While it benefits the spine.

I reluctantly conceded
Though my skepticism’s deep,
But we’ll find out soon enough
If we’ll both get a good night’s sleep.

Unfriendly Skies

The passengers were in their seats
When something was announced –
Employees had to fly and so
Four people would be bounced.

Requests with compensation
Met with silence, so United
Chose some “random” ticket holders
To deplane and thus ignited

Quite a controversy, since one man
Just out and out refused.
His bodily removal left him
Furious and bruised.

The gentleman, a doctor,
Had some patients to attend to.
United workers didn’t care;
Nor did they pretend to.

Of course, the scene was filmed
And now those so-called “friendly skies”
Will be filled with cancellations
As the rage intensifies.

Elevated

We took our grandson for the day
To visit in the city.
Compared to where he lives, it must seem
Noisy, fast and gritty.

He marveled at the bridges,
The tall buildings and the river,
But there was one department
Where I knew that we’d deliver -

For elevators currently
Rank high up on his list
Of things that seem to thrill him.
(Escalators coexist.)

He proudly pushed the buttons,
Counted floors as they zipped by
And in Daddy’s office building
There were 8 that he could try!

A Barnes & Noble stop was great
Not only for a book
But for the escalators
(Up and down) that we all took.

Suburban kids are used to
Lots of room in which to play
But a nana with an elevator
Garners some cachet.

Back to Nine

The Justices are back to nine
According to the planned design.
It should have happened months before
But those in power slammed that door.

So now we’ll have to wait and see
For there is just no guarantee
When hearing from the nine Supremes
That what is real is what it seems.

Things may turn out as we believed
Or maybe we will be relieved.
In any case, the deal is done;
A brand-new era has begun.

Pre-Passover

The spattered recipes come out,
Ingredients procured.
The kitchen timer ticks away,
So I am reassured.

We slice and blend and chop and mix
And wait for pots to boil,
While using all the eggs on hand
As well as all the oil.

There’s so much prep for just one meal
But every year’s the same
And any dish forgotten
We’d consider such a shame.

Tomorrow we will gather
And retell the ancient tale
Then the fruits of all our labor
We’ll be happy to unveil.

Modern Day Weed

I haven’t toked in many years
And though it’s just as well,
In Amsterdam three years ago,
My nose picked up that smell.

I breathed in deep and reminisced
About my younger days,
Those weekend nights engulfed in such
A mellow stoned-out haze.

These days in New York City, though,
A scent pervades the air.
It’s weed, I’m told, but to the old stuff
It does not compare.

In fact, its noxious odor
Comes the closest to a skunk.
I wonder if imbibers
Are aware they stink, stank, stunk!

When we partook so long ago,
The ways that one could tell
Were our beatific faces
And our cravings – not our smell!

Snakes

We’re all afraid of something –
Spiders, lightning, heights, the dark –
But often we don’t know what set
That fear-inducing spark.

My grandson, for example,
Suddenly despises snakes.
You might suspect he hates
The hissing noise that creature makes.

Snakes also make me nervous
So I get how he must feel;
Yet I don’t think he’s ever seen
A snake up close that’s real.

Still, any book that he picks out
That has a snake inside it
Requires me to keep an eye out
Just so I can hide it.

Special

In the pre-school, there are days
When children get to choose
A “special” person that, to them,
Has garnered great reviews.

That person has the honor
Of a very special pass
Which entitles him or her
To come and hang out in the class.

My grandson picked his mommy
As his very first selection.
His daddy was the winner
Next time in his son’s affection.

The time has come again
And it is me who was invited!
I’m sure it’s obvious I’m thrilled,
Delighted and excited.

It’s lovely to feel special
Like that so-called top banana,
But it's even better coming from
The one who made me “Nana.”

Short Films

A movie’s like a novel
With a vista to explore
Which, assuming it’s a good one,
Leaves you wanting even more.

Yet I’ve recently discovered
Something else that quite transports –
It’s a genre that at film fests
Is referred to as “the shorts.”

Several films are shown together
For an hour and a half,
An assemblage that’s so varied
You may cry or scream or laugh.

Every subject matter’s different;
All the settings are, as well
And each film’s uniqueness feels
Like the director’s cast a spell.

Yet just like a full-length feature,
Each short gem seems quite complete
And, when viewed as a collection,
It’s a cinematic treat.
                       

(inspired by CIFF – the Cleveland
International Film Festival)

The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Museum

Six hours of viewing
(Not counting the shop)
And listening, too.
(Never wanting to stop!)

All the bands from my youth
(And their young and old selves)
Brought to life (from their
Dusty LP's on my shelves).

With both headphones to hear
And screens waiting to watch,
The years slipped away
(My age more than a notch).

Nostalgia's the setting
And rock is the key.
A visit's essential -
Just take it from me.

Cleveland Birthday

For my special day, I had one aim -
The Rock & Rollers Hall of Fame.
So I'm here in Cleveland, where we spent 
The whole day there. (The time just went!)

As a bonus, there's a movie fest
So we saw a film; we were quite impressed.
Had a yummy meal - beer and barbecue 
And to top it off, chocolate fondue.

Heard from several friends and then best of all
Were the messages when my kids did call,
For my daughter sang and my son said hi
But my grands so cute I could almost die.

And the rain held off almost to the end;
Close to perfect, though. (I could still pretend.)
With my husband by my side right here,
I will gladly age another year.

Plastic Owl

A plastic owl stood guard upon
A city window ledge,
Most likely so a pigeon wouldn’t
Strut there on the edge.

But urban creatures aren’t fooled
By something clearly fake.
Their city cred, much more than where they land,
Is what’s at stake.

Though farmers may use scarecrows
So their crops will thus survive,
All the savvy city critters
Wouldn’t fall for all that jive.

April Fools'

Does anybody still play pranks
To honor April Fools’?
It used to be a date when people
Messed with all the rules.

The press would often publish
Stores that were clearly fake.
We laughed about that once, but now
There’s just too much at stake.

It’s sad to find that humor
Lately, more than not, provokes,
When in the past we lightened up,
On April Fools’, with jokes.