Unmasked

The Mayo Clinic has a rule
For visitors which states
That everyone must wear a mask –
Not open to debates.

Yet our V.P., when stopping by,
Felt he should be exempt.
For policies outside his realm,
He seems to have contempt.

Informed before his visit
Of the masking regulation
He defended his position
With a bogus explanation.

The White House sets the standards
Which serve only to incense
So we shouldn’t be surprised to see
Such disregard by Pence.

Covered

I don’t go into any stores
But heard that when I do
A mask may not be good enough,
Alas, to walk on through.

I’ll need a pair of Nitrile gloves
Before I head inside.
Without them, gaining entry
Might quite simply be denied.

Obediently, I perused
Varieties on screen
In blue or black or purple –
You must know the ones I mean.

The prices varied, not a one
With shipping that was free,
Yet that’s the way things go if I want
Gloves they’ll send to me.

The order’s placed and though the timing
Isn’t opportune,
I might be somewhat braver when
They get to me in June.

Magic Tricks

A new story I read to the grands
Led to magical spells and commands.
They performed several tricks
Trying hard to transfix,
Hiding various things in their hands.

Oh, if magic I could engineer,
With my powers I would persevere
Using wizarding skills
Adding all the known frills
To make Covid-19 disappear!

The Fairy Tale Book

The copyright is ’58;
I’ve owned it ever since.
Its stories, 28 in all,
My childhood do evince.

I likely read it to myself;
My memory has faded
But all the wonder of those tales
My reading life pervaded.

Unlike the whitewashed versions
Of most fairy tales today,
The stories feature cruelty
And malice on display.

Yet recently I found this book
And dusted off its spine
To share each afternoon with
Much-missed grandchildren of mine.

They listen quite intently;
FaceTime lets them see the art
And we bridge the distance which unjustly
Keeps us miles apart.

Full circle now, my book of tales
Still holds its magic power,
Enchanting those who listen during
Nana’s story hour.

The Sign

The hand-made sign was colorful,
Composed upon a sheet
And visible to everyone
Who walked by on the street.

Tied tightly to the fire escape
It powerfully proclaimed,
“An ER nurse lives here!” although
The person wasn’t named.

It made me smile and wonder
If she’d somehow hung the sign
Or perhaps a friend decided
She deserved her time to shine.

In either case, we owe our thanks
To every nurse right now.
We hang our signs and clap each night
Because we don’t know how.

My Fantasy

In my fantasy, I leave my home
And stroll down several blocks.
I stop at H & M to see
The t-shirts and the socks.

At Barnes & Noble, I peruse
The kids’ books on display
For I will see my grandkids
Sometime later in the day.

If Fairway’s not too crowded
I pop in to get my fix
Of their bagels, bags of coffee
And some random munchie picks.

I may stop in at CVS;
My coupon’s on my card
And then I’ll head back home
Along a bustling boulevard.

No yachts, no jewels, no lottery –
Is it too much to ask
To have my former life again?
(I’ll even wear a mask!)

Genius Cure

When the voice at the top
With the orange-hued mop
Makes suggestions that boggle the mind
Those who serve on his court
Should remove their support
Not regretting what they leave behind.

For his latest remarks
From his tweets and his barks
Saying Covid might vanish with bleach
Sounded dumb and bombastic
(But far from sarcastic).
Can we try one more time to impeach?

Something Wicked

In this spring of discontent
When fair is foul and foul is fair
Something wicked this way comes
And floats, invisible, on air.

To be or not to be is not
The question underlings must ask
For though a serpent’s tooth is sharp
It might be hidden by a mask.

We cannot protest too much
For mortals everywhere are fools.
Of course, methinks, upon this stage
So many players break the rules.

Indeed, a man can die but once
But we are pricked and poisoned, still,
Walking shadows in a tale
Forewarned in borrowings from Will.*

*an homage to William Shakespeare, on his birthday
Forgive my lack of quotation marks…

Earth Day Thoughts

Today’s the date, for what it’s worth,
When we should celebrate the earth
And yet we’re mostly stuck inside
So all our wrongs are magnified.

Pollution of the seas and skies,
Affecting skin and brains and eyes,
Has lessened as emissions ebb
While we stay home and search the web.

The chemicals from factories
Which spoil the rivers and the breeze
Stay bottled up, with workers out,
All breathing easier, no doubt.

The irony has not been lost –
The earth may heal, but at what cost?
Our planet’s health, for which we’ve yearned,
Won’t last, the lesson not quite learned.

I Don't Know How

I don’t know how to sew a corner
On a quilting piece.
I don’t know how to sleep all night
And get that sweet release.

I don’t know how to throw away
The relics of the past.
I don’t know how to let things go
From hurts that shouldn’t last.

I don’t know how to interact;
The old ways just don’t work.
I don’t know how to pull the plug
On chores I’d rather shirk.

I don’t know how I’ll make it through,
Though others have it worse.
The only thing I know for sure
Is how to end this verse.

Inanimate Thoughts

Our car must wonder why the heck
It isn’t being used.
Cosmetics in my make-up drawer
Are equally confused.

My pocketbook forlornly sits,
Sure it’s been left behind.
My brand-new jumpsuit in the closet’s
Crowded and confined.

My MetroCard and cash are tucked
Inside my wallet’s folds,
Perplexed at never leaving,
Stuck inside their stuffy holds.

I must be going crazy
Thinking ‘bout these lifeless things
But when boredom is the way of life,
Some merriment it brings.

The Trees Outside

The trees outside my window
Are in their budding phase,
With newborn leaves and blossoms
In their early spring displays.

I gaze at them forlornly,
Behind a pane of glass
And hope they aren’t autumn-like
Before this all shall pass.

Though fall’s my favorite season,
Those rusts and golds, I think,
Won’t dazzle near as much without
Their prior greens and pink.

What We Miss

For my sister-in-law it’s bananas;
For my aunt, it’s the paper each day.
For one friend, who likes getting her nails done,
It’s another thing taken away.

For my daughter, it’s getting to see us;
For my grandkids, it’s also their schools.
For so many, it’s going outdoors without masks
And not having to follow new rules.

Though we all miss our lives before Covid
Each of us might have one special thing
That we crave above all of the others
For the happiness that it did bring.

If we dare to peer into the future
When we’re not stuck inside feeling bored,
We might see, if we stay optimistic,
What we miss may be someday restored.

Lucky

We haven’t seen our kids in weeks,
Our grandkids or our car,
Yet reading all the stories,
We’re the lucky ones, by far.

We’re hunkered down with food and books
And music and TV,
With working Wi-Fi and a phone
To FaceTime, gratefully.

I feel for those who can’t pay rent,
Whose loved ones died, or worse –
Whose lives are on a downward slide
They maybe can’t reverse.

This country has a great divide,
Our differences made clear.
This virus, though, reminds us
That our luck could disappear.

Reading Material

My husband reads biographies
But I’ll take fiction, if you please.
He likes to learn about the past;
His tomes would bore me, really fast.

Yet having finished my last book,
I figured I would take a look
At one of his, a bio on
My second favorite Beatle, John.

It’s written by his former wife
From his pre-Yoko English life
With photos of their early years –
Quite happy, or so it appears.

I haven’t gotten far enough
To read about the juicy stuff
Though there are hints that when John left,
His wife and son were both bereft.

Of all my husband’s books there are
This is the fluffiest, by far.
Of course, that is the reason why
I’d thought I’d give it just one try.

So far so good, but when I’m done,
Re-reading time will have begun.
From novels I’ve read long ago,
I’ll dive in for a second show.

Wearing a Mask

We have to wear masks now in public.
Executive order’s been made
So we must embrace
Cloth to cover the face
Because everyone’s really afraid.

It could be a scarf or bandanna
As long as the mouth and the nose
Are hidden behind
What is hoped to remind
Us of germs other folks may expose.

My version, home-made out of cotton,
Loops each ear with a ponytail tie.
I hate how it feels
But its usage reveals
That I’m doing my part to comply.

Greece

Right now I’d be visiting Greece
If all travel did not simply cease
Seeing Athens and Crete
And, to me, such a treat –
Santorini, where stress would release.

I’ve seen pictures and all I can say
Is such beauty just blows me away.
Going there was a dream
But today it must seem
Like a scene from a movie or play.

Though I’ve heard of a virtual tour
As a way to long-distance explore
That has little appeal
Like a virtual meal
Which just teases and makes you want more.

Embroidered

I got a SoupMail;* didn’t know
Who sent it, so I read it.
A person found a poem of mine
And had the thought to thread it.

By that, I mean embroidery –
She stitched it, oh, so neatly,
To make a lovely sampler which
Just floored me, quite completely.

Although she also sewed my name,
She needed my permission
For in a contest it would be
Her needlework submission.

To think, a rhyme composed by me
In New York months ago
Will be in a hand-sewn sampler
In a prized New Zealand show!

The world’s become a smaller place
As, miles and miles apart,
A stranger reached into my world
And lifted up my heart.

*a message center on PoetrySoup,
a site where I also publish my poems

The Fruit and Veggie Man

I haven’t been inside a store
For 3 long weeks, or maybe 4,
Yet we are pretty set for food
From staples we’ve before accrued.

Yet fruits and veggies we still need
And though it isn’t guaranteed
That virus germs won’t somehow land,
We buy them from the local stand.

The man in charge stays in his car,
The windows or the door ajar,
Until he sees and comes to greet
A customer across the street.

We say hello and grab a bag
Then what looks good we quickly snag.
We hand him cash – our hands don’t touch
And need no change – just “thank you much!”

The fruit and veggie man’s become
A lifeline, for with every plum
Or cantaloupe or broccoli,
He brings some normalcy to me.

City vs. State

The mayor and guv’nor did clash,
Both feeling empowered and brash
And we all await
In city and state
To find out whose credit will crash.

The mayor says schools will be closed
‘Til September, which we all supposed
But the guv, standing tall,
Said it wasn’t his call
And implied he, for now, was opposed.

When two egos like theirs are involved,
It is hard to get something resolved.
You would think in these straits,
With so much on their plates,
That their rivalry might have dissolved.

It Takes a Pandemic

It takes a pandemic to watch your world shrink
To ration your ice cream, wash clothes in the sink
To realize that life can be snuffed in a blink
Just like what we’re doing today.

It takes a pandemic to miss open air
To FaceTime with grandkids and wish you were there
To swerve around strangers whose sidewalk you share
And hope that the germs stay away.

It takes a pandemic to shelter in place
To curse FaceTime’s box that’s displaying your face
To long for the feel of a friend’s tight embrace
And wonder if we’ll be okay.

The Creatures of the City

Two ducks stand on the promenade
Before the break of day.
I never used to see them
When things weren’t quite this way.

But now they’re waiting when I walk,
A female and her mate,
Surprised, perhaps, that no one’s there
Who might intimidate.

My husband sees a fat raccoon
Just blocks from Central Park,
Not often found on city streets,
Though it was still quite dark.

The creatures of the city now
Must surely be confused
Without the bustling folks with which
Their lives have been infused.

And so they venture out to see
Where everyone has gone
And likely join us, wond’ring
What the hell is going on.

A Seder on Zoom

We’re having a Seder on Zoom
And Passover foods we'll consume.
We’ll eat as a group
Things like matzoh ball soup
But our seats won’t be in the same room.

We’ll read the Haggadah to tell
Of the story we all know so well –
How the Jews, once enslaved,
Crossed the sea and were saved
Though they wandered around for a spell.

Tradition requires we recite
Plagues which filled the Egyptians with fright:
Locusts, blood, boils and then
Frogs and more, which made 10,
All repeated on Passover night.

So by sundown, the Seder will start,
Though from custom we have to depart.
Still, by screen we’ll connect
And we’ll one day reflect
How this plague couldn’t keep us apart.

Bombarded

From having not enough to do
I’m now bombarded with a slew
Of YouTubes that I have to view –
Right now! Right now! Right now!

A few are funny, some bring tears
While others cause disdain or sneers
But what I think is it appears
That onward folks will plow.

They all mean well; I don’t regret
The texts or emails that I get.
I hope the senders aren’t upset
If time does not allow…

My answering them right away
For I’m not able to obey
Each message sent, without delay –
I simply don’t know how.

What Keeps Me Sane

Though doom may loom, I’m in the womb,
Cocooned and thus protected.
Yet stuck in place, without much space,
My psyche’s been affected.

What keeps me sane in my domain
Is walking in the morning
Before the dawn has brightly drawn
Its pink and purple warning.

My hour out, without a doubt,
Is like a giant tether,
Connecting me to what must be
My only taste of weather.

For what I need to still proceed,
In quarantine’s restriction,
Is air and sky; without them I
Would die. (That’s my prediction.)

The Days

I used to mark the days by what
I’d scheduled to do,
Like Fridays with the grandkids
For our weekly rendezvous.

On Thursdays there was quilting
And on Wednesdays, never fear,
I’d be at the museum where
I am a volunteer.

On Tuesdays I’d play mah jongg
Once a month, or else I’d go
With my husband to a movie
Or museum for a show.

On Mondays, with some friends, I’d meet
To walk and have a meal
In places in the city that
We’d heard had some appeal.

The weekends often took me
With my daughter and my spouse
Out to rural Pennsylvania
Where we own a country house.

Yet now the days meld into one –
No differentiation –
With all of my activities
On permanent vacation.

It’s meaningless to call each day,
Like Sunday, by its name
At least to me, for in my life,
They’re sadly, all the same.

In the Kitchen Cabinets

One box was stamped two thousand fifteen;
Another two thousand and five.
If I ate the pasta inside them,
Do you think I would still be alive?

Some crackers found zipped in a baggie
Were stale as a mummy’s last breath.
If I crumbled a few in my chowder,
Would that be the cause of my death?

The ketchup in back of the pantry
Was browner than children’s mud pies.
If I squirted it onto a burger,
Might that cause an early demise?

Since we have relinquished our shopping,
We’re searching our cupboards, no joke,
Discovering items forgotten
Which, if eaten, might cause us to croak!

A Birthday in Place

Believe it or not, my birthday’s been great
Though not one I would have predicted,
Assuming that I would be down in the dumps
For being so virus-restricted.

My pre-sunrise walk was delightful because
The rain I’d expected held off
And no one I passed on the street came too close
And I heard not a sneeze or a cough.

Before my first coffee, my son and his kids
Called with wishes no money could buy
And my grandson surprised me by writing a poem
Starting, “I love my nana…” Oh, my!

A flurry of phone calls and texts followed suit
Since each person I know’s stuck at home,
All with wishes so special I just don’t have room
To describe them inside of a poem.

There was breakfast and lunch and the governor’s talk
Which inspired a fun-to-do task:
With some quilting material, flowered and green,
I then stitched for myself a new mask!

Creative juice flowed so in place of a cake
I baked cupcakes to mark my big day
And my grandkids, on FaceTime, with very big puffs
Blew the flame on the candle away.

Some long-distance toasts with my aunt and some friends
And then dinner and wine with my spouse
Set my spirits on fire with feelings so strong
It would take more than water to douse.

We may have to adjust in this craziness now
To reality unlike before
But it isn’t all negative for we may find
Unexpected surprises in store.

A Cheerful Rhyme

Giggle, chortle, chuckle, laugh,
Snicker and guffaw;
Titter, be in stitches, snort
As if you broke the law.

Cackle, beam and grin so wide
Your cheeks will start to hurt.
Set your face aglow like when
You eat the best dessert.

Keep the real world from your thoughts
And let your mind employ
Whatever tactics it may have
To conjure up some joy.

Every Night at 7

The city’s super quiet now
As life remains on hold,
A siren’s wail from time to time
Erupting uncontrolled.

Until, each night at 7
When the clapping sounds begin,
Accompanied by cow bells,
Only adding to the din.

With whoops and shouts and singing,
Either live or Spotified,
New Yorkers thus acknowledge,
For the help that they provide…

The workers who risk everything
To labor in the stores
And hospitals and anyplace
Beyond their own front doors.

From sidewalks (6 feet separate)
And from windows people clap,
Connecting and uniting
Past the social distance gap.

They cannot hug or congregate –
All contact’s been deferred –
But every night at 7
They join others to be heard.