Thick Skin

Oh, to have skin that's thick and tough
Where nothing's really strong enough
To penetrate and cause a wound,
Too thick to even be harpooned.

Some lucky souls are built that way
And keep life's stings and barbs at bay,
Protected by such armored skin
That nothing hurtful trickles in.

Alas, my skin's like cellophane;
Each minor pinprick causes pain.
An upgrade to a thicker hide
Would help slough off my wounded pride.

Interlude with Play Doh

Roll it out or squoosh it flat;
Make a pie or cobbler,
But the eater must be
An imaginary gobbler.

Form a bunch of little balls;
Fill a little bucket.
Poke some holes and when you're done 
You might decide to chuck it.

If you do, just mush it up
And stuff in its container.
Kids and time and Play Doh?
I would say a real no-brainer!

A Firefighter's Funeral

The streets are lined with firefighters,
Standing at attention,
Their uniforms, so freshly pressed,
Deserving of a mention.

The flag-draped coffin then arrives,
The silence absolute
As, on command, each white-gloved hand
Is raised in crisp salute.

The widow, clinging to her kids,
Is gently led inside.
The church fills up, with all the seats
And aisles occupied.

The eulogy’s predictable –
A hero died, of course.
The same most likely would be said
Of each one on the force.

A firefighter’s funeral
Is solemn, sad and proud,
A fitting tribute to a soul
Whose courage was unbowed.

The American Cockroach

An interesting fact that I read
‘Bout the cockroach (American bred)
Is how it is unique;
It can live for a week
Even if it is missing its head.

For those people who live in much dread
Of these creatures and pray they’ve all fled,
There would still be a shriek
If one, headless, would streak
Since the best kind of cockroach is dead!

Orchids

The orchids in the Garden show,
So gorgeous, on display,
Must wonder what they’re doing there
In colorful array.

For it’s a long way off from where
They usually grow,
Where animals and insects
Are the creatures that they know.

Yet here the crowds come traipsing
To take photographs and gawk,
For orchids aren’t native to
The boroughs of New Yawk.

I’m sure they’d rather be back home
In jungle/forest setting,
But maybe they’re enjoying
The attention that they’re getting.

French

In the orchestra of languages
Nobody would dispute
That French, with honeyed cadence,
Would be likened to the flute.

I pass a French school every day
And hear the conversation –
So smooth and silky that from English
It’s like a vacation.

The melting pot that is New York
Enables me to hear
A wealth of tongues all chattering
Into the atmosphere.

But only French has silvery tones
Like flutes when they are playing
And I enjoy the sounds although
I know not what they’re saying!

Safari

Our friends went on safari;
We enjoyed their tales and pics.
The guides escorted them to bed,
Their weapons only sticks.

Yet once inside their tents they heard
Some lions in a fight.
With predators so close, I know
I’d never sleep at night.

Another day a hippo started
Making an approach.
The guide called out, “Get in the jeep!”
Which was their touring coach.

The wildlife photos did impress,
The settings gorgeous, too,
But I’m content with what I see
When I am at the zoo.

Stoned in School

You’re teaching a class
And in someone barges.
You want to protect
Both yourself and your charges.

So what do you do?
Grab your bucket of stones
And soon the intruder’s
A bucket of bones.

Your students can help
If they each grab a rock,
Assuming they aren’t
Immobile with shock.

Just think how effective
Such tactics can be!
We all can join in
On a stone-throwing spree!

Of course, if the trespasser’s
Wielding a gun,
The pupils (and you)
Might be tempted to run.

For certainly studies
(Most likely) have shown
A bullet’s more lethal
Than any thrown-stone.

And let’s not forget
There’s a lot here at stake.
An innocent guest
Could be stoned by mistake.

This foolish idea
A school district condoned.
Makes me wonder if they
Were in other ways stoned.

A Visit to the Hygienist

The hygienist cleaned my teeth
And gave a little lecture.
"Your flossing isn't good enough;"
It wasn't just conjecture.

I'm sure that it was obvious
My efforts were exquisite
In just the week or two before
My 6-month dental visit.

I brush each morning and each night
But more than that's annoying.
Unless a poppy seed is stuck,
No floss I'll be employing.

So twice a year I suck it up 
And listen to her chiding.
At least a saddle for her very
High horse I'm providing.

A Stick of Butter

Sometimes an image just sticks in your mind;
Try as you might you can’t leave it behind.
One I’ll relate didn’t happen to me
But hearing about it sufficed, as you’ll see.

A colleague of mine who had students in need
Sometimes paid a home visit to get up to speed,
For meeting the parents at home would provide
Information that they might be tempted to hide.

On one such occasion, who came to the door
Was the mother, whom he’d not encountered before.
She loomed there, obese, very much in command,
With a full stick of butter she clutched in her hand.

“Come in,” she insisted, and seemed quite at ease
Though what happened next near brought my friend to his knees.
It wasn’t the home’s disrepair, but the sight
Of that mom with her butter stick, taking a bite.

Whatever he thought of the mom and her kid
Doesn’t matter today, but I’ll never be rid
Of that image – the mother, the butter, the chew
And I’ll bet now that picture will stick with you, too.

Tit for Tat

Life has lots of give and take;
That’s just where it’s at.
If you ask for favors
Then expect in no time flat,
You’ll find the ball back in your court –
A simple tit for tat.

Those we’re close to are exempt.
Then a welcome mat
Is always waiting there for you;
No need for standing pat.
But in every other case,
The norm is tit for tat.

MRI Music

While waiting for my MRI
And nervous, I will not deny,
The techies then guessed
That a music request
Might calm me, so I did comply.

I naturally chose rock & roll
Since being absorbed was my goal.
With my eyes tightly closed
All the words, I supposed,
Would keep butterflies under control.

So the clanging began, as it must
But the music helped, as we’d discussed
Though the very first song
Made my panic prolong –
Queen’s “Another One (me!) Bites the Dust.”

The Start of Spring

Tomorrow marks the start of spring.
The weatherman said it would bring
Some rain and wind and maybe snow –
That’s not the way that it should go!

It’s time to ditch the winter coats,
For hearing “spring” to us denotes
Not boots and scarves and barren trees
But budding blooms and gentle breeze.

At least, to most, the longer days
Provide more time to soak up rays
And thus prepare for springtime sun
When Nature’s little prank is done.

Belts

A belt keeps pants from falling down
Or gives the loops employment.
A song that’s belted out may give
The audience enjoyment.

A belt of Scotch may calm the nerves
But there is no denyin’
The brightest belt is in the sky
On he who hunts, Orion.

One belt can lay a boxer flat
And factory surveyors
Keep track of goods that travel
On the belts we call conveyors.

What prompted this was Henry,*
Such a proud, excited fellow
Who just passed his test in Tae Kwon Do
And earned his belt of yellow!

*my 4 ½ year old grandson

The Green

Emerald seems the primo choice 
With kelly right behind.
Hunter, mint or jade might also
Be the shades you'll find.

Army, jungle and chartreuse 
Would certainly suffice.
Forest, olive, lime and spring 
Would also look quite nice.

Leaf and teal and sea and moss
And all the hues between
Will tell the world you're taking part
In wearin' o' the green.

Curiosity Today

My grandson, a curious boy,
Who brings me a great deal of joy,
Asks questions galore
And then he asks more
But somehow they do not annoy.

The reason is I can find out
The answers, with nary a doubt,
For Google's right there
And happy to share.
Today, that's what life is about.

A video shows us how-to
And both of us learn something new,
A far cry from when
My own questions, back then,
Bit off more than my mother could chew.

Kokito

A furor surely was ignited
When somebody from United
Made a bad decision
With a most unpleasant end.

A carrier with dog inside
(The flight attendant notified)
Was placed with luggage which
The family couldn’t comprehend.

The overhead compartment where
Kokito languished had no air
And so he barked, expecting
That he soon would be unpenned.

The owners begged, to no avail.
Kokito's cries did not prevail
And soon the family learned they’d lost
Their sweet and loyal friend.

United gets a new black eye
And not a soul should wonder why
Of all the airlines, this is one
I would not recommend.

Helicopter Crash

The passengers were strapped in tight,
Excited for their twilight flight.
To get a close-up city view,
The doors were open as they flew.

One selfie shows a beaming guy
With thumbs-up as they hit the sky,
Expecting to see New York’s sights,
So magical with all those lights.

But once the Brooklyn Bridge was passed
I’m sure all riders were aghast
To hear the pilot’s May Day call;
The copter had begun to fall.

Into the river it did crash
(There must have been a mighty splash)
And in a flash turned upside-down
In frigid water; all did drown.

Their safety harnesses had knives
To cut the straps (for saving lives)
But underwater, in the cold,
No one could get a stranglehold.

A tragic ending to report
For five whose lives were severed short.
The pilot lived but I would guess
His nightmares he will not suppress.

The Queen of Inertia

I’m the Queen of Inertia
So please kiss my ring,
Although it’s not technically
Royal-type bling.

Or else you might curtsey
To show me respect
For no one’s surpassed me,
The last time I checked.

The art on my walls hasn’t
Changed now for years;
The furniture’s old,
Which is how it appears.

My wardrobe’s the same
(With a few slight additions).
I’m not too complacent
With change or transitions.

My hairstyle’s been with me
For quite a long time
And lots of my poems
Share a similar rhyme.

Don’t try to usurp
My familiar routine.
When it comes to inertia,
Man, I am the Queen!

Reinforcements

In the movies, “Reinforcements!”
Meant to quickly send more troops,
When war’s casualties meant spirits
Got a bad case of the droops.

In real life, though, reinforcements had,
To me and all my peers,
Quite a different definition, one
That now one never hears.

They were little paper circles
Which would stick around the holes
Of a piece of loose-leaf paper,
Being one of its controls.

For without them, if the hole would tear,
That page could then get lost
And who knows how much that missing schoolwork,
Grade-wise might have cost.

So a box of reinforcements
(Or self-stick ones, on a sheet)
Would come swiftly to the rescue,
Keeping loose-leaf notebooks neat.

Do they still sell reinforcements?
I’m not sure, but years ago
I bought extra; if you need some,
Please feel free to let me know.

The Kind of Person

Were I the kind of person
Who’d act upon a dare
I wouldn’t be here
Plopped down on my rear
Without some excitement to share.

Were I the type of writer
Who sought out wealth and fame
I’d research the ways
To gain notice and praise
So more people would nod at my name.

But I am a risk-averse person,
Content in my own little world;
Not even in sleep
Do I dig down so deep
That my freak flag will flutter, unfurled.

Message in a Bottle

In June of 1886,
A German sailor tossed
A bottle with a message
Overboard, where it got lost.

The ship, en route to Indonesia,
Left from Cardiff, Wales,
The bottle an experiment
To track the currents’ trails.

A woman walking on the shore
This January glanced
Upon the sand and what she saw
Immediately entranced –

An old glass bottle poking through
A stark Australian beach;
She brought it home and found inside
A scroll that she could reach.

She dried it in the oven
And the message was revealed,
One hundred thirty-one long years
From when it first was sealed.

It merely told where it was from
And asked for its return,
So scientists could analyze
Its journey and could learn.

A message in a bottle
Has a singular mystique,
Like a hole cut in the fabric 
Of the past, where we can peek.

Following the Rules

Some folks follow all the rules;
Others like to bend 'em,
Feeling like it's only fools
Who staunchly would defend 'em.

Which way that you lean begins
When you're just out of diapers.
Followers fear that their sins
Will make them pay the pipers.

Benders, though, might get a rush
From tempting fate and winning,
Even if they have a brush
With blame at the beginning.

We each know where we belong
When rules are in our faces
And since we all hate being wrong,
We never will change places.

Women's Day

It’s Women’s Day and come-what-may
There’s progress we are making.
We’ve given all a wake-up call
And notice they are taking.

It’s not okay when equal pay
Is not out on the table.
Let’s overhaul the protocol
Whenever we are able.

And lechers note – your one-time gloat
Had better vanish quickly
For we won’t stand for moves unplanned;
Reactions will be prickly.

So let’s devote this day to float
A vision of a sequel
When, hand in hand, across the land,
We’re all considered equal.

When the Mighty Fall

At Newark Airport, Christie* tried
A quicker way to get inside,
Expecting they would let him slide;
Alas, though, entrance was denied.

The V.I.P. line he’d once used,
When cockiness from him just oozed,
Was blocked by police, but Christie mused
That he was just a bit confused.

For when the “mighty” tumble from
The lofty place from which they’ve come,
To our derision they succumb;
And sympathy? Not one small crumb.

*former governor of New Jersey

TCB Days

Some days are meant for TCB,
Those chores you’ve been evading,
That sea of obligations
Into which you must start wading.

You make a list and then decide
The first ones you should tackle
And every one you finish feels
Like severing a shackle.

Though some have online access
Others may require some travel,
But once you’re on a roll, don’t let
Your fortitude unravel.

The feeling of fulfillment
As your tasks are taken care of
Is as pleasant a sensation
As few others I’m aware of.

A Bad Day

Once in a while I wish I could dial
The day back to right where it started.
I’d then reconcile with things that did rile
And left me despondently-hearted.

It isn’t the norm but some days just swarm
With episodes rank and annoying
And in such a storm, it’s hard to transform
A dejection into something buoying.

Still, all things must pass and greener the grass
We will spot on our side of the fences.
We’ll relinquish the crass and begin, smooth as glass,
With a fresh start when morning commences.

Home Movies

The birthday party, a surprise,
Had lots of things to tantalize –
A lovely house, delicious food,
A friendly host to set the mood…

Some dialogue with friends and kin,
The birthday gal’s elated grin
When, from the car, she looked about
As all of us let out a shout.

My favorite part, though, was to see,
Transcribed to view on a TV,
Home movies of the honored guest,
The past revived at our behest.

Most partygoers knew her then
And lived those mem'ries once again
But we don’t go back quite as far
So watching really raised the bar:

An eighth grade trip, a P.J. bash,
A backyard pool, with hose and splash,
The senior prom (and she the queen!),
A high school graduation scene.

To see my friend so very young
Gave background to the praises sung
And piled so high upon her plate
By all who came to celebrate.

As pals and family reminisced,
I saw a bit of what I’d missed
But I was thrilled to recognize
My younger friend, a sweet surprise.

On Wind

The wind can make a sailboat glide
And keep a kite afloat,
Help homes to be electrified;
Give yards a blossom coat.

Yet wind can also uproot trees
And send their branches flying,
Cause boats to capsize on the seas;
Set fields of crops to dying.

From gentle breeze to raging gust,
A whisper or a squall,
Even from indoors, we must
Be held within its thrall.

Two Umbrellas

Two umbrellas hang and drip
Some puddles on the floor,
A brief reprieve, for in a bit,
We're heading out the door.

They look the same, like strawberries,
But differ in their size.
The smaller one is Hadley's*
And she loves it (no surprise).

For I remember my umbrella
When I was a kid.
Nothing made me feel grown-up
Like that umbrella did.

So in the pouring rain we'll walk,
Two berries held above,
Protected from the elements
By nylon and by love.

*my 2 1/2 year old granddaughter

Marching In

February bid adieu
And March marched in, like months should do.
It wasn’t lion-like today;
Tomorrow, though, will roar away.

Some shoots are poking through the ground
While leafless branches still surround
And robins haven’t yet appeared;
The sparrows, though, have persevered.

We can’t predict how March will roll.
It’s really out of our control
But likely, ‘fore it starts to scram,
We’ll get a little taste of lamb.