Haircut!

Before today, the last time
Was on February third.
I looked a mess; if you had seen me
You would have concurred.

For shorter hairdos need a trim
More often than the long.
That in-between length somehow looks
Just ultra flat-out wrong!

But now that my reflection,
Which the mirror does display,
Looks a whole lot more familiar,
I must cover up the gray!

A Cup of Iced Coffee

This is a tale of the haves and the nots
Which I witnessed in front of my face,
A question of simply connecting the dots,
For it happens all over the place.

A woman was rummaging deep in the trash -
She was homeless, or so it would seem –
And extracted, to drink or to add to her stash,
An iced coffee, half-filled, made with cream.

Did she drink it? Not sure, but it made me aware
Of discrepancies glaring and wrong
For whoever did toss it did really not care
Since it cost him not more than a song.

But to her, what it meant (though of course I can’t know)
Was a drink she could never afford
For the way of the world means the nots (this is so)
Are just naturally shunned and ignored.

Ode to A/C

A breeze is nice, but my advice
When temperatures are soaring
Is get inside where you can hide
And cooler air is pouring.

I guarantee that with A/C
Your mood will be improving
And you can do the normal things
Like standing up and moving.

For when I get a coat of sweat
I’m cranky and I’m sluggish.
An A/C blast will get me past
To where I’m almost smuggish.

When people name what they acclaim’s
The number one invention,
It’s cars or planes or P.C. brains
But what they rarely mention

Is B.T.U.’s, so I’ll effuse
On how they help with cooling.
Without A/C, well, woe is me!
(And really, I’m not fooling!)

Elevator Etiquette

It’s hard to social distance
In an elevator car
For just one other person
Ups the ante way too far.

So when another occupant
Steps in, there is no doubt
That I will just excuse myself
By quickly stepping out.

The regulars respect this,
Riding solo with a mask
And waiting for an empty car
To not be called to task.

But strangers or impatient folk
Or those who doubt the facts
Just waltz right in no matter how
Their rider-mate reacts.

At times like those, which I believe
Will happen more and more,
I wish, instead of 9, I lived
On the 1st or 2nd floor.

Oh, Joy!

I saw my favorite girl and boy
First time since March, oh joy! oh joy!
I can’t explain how good it feels - 
I want to leap and kick my heels.

By their reactions, I am sure,
From when we first walked through the door,
They missed us, too, but now we’re back,
As life crawls slowly on its track.

A Dr. Kildare Shirt

My grandson has a lot of tees
With Mario imprinted.
His sister wears her Ariels,
Her mermaid passion hinted.

Which made me think of certain shirts,
Quite popular back when
I though that Dr. Kildare
Was the handsomest of men.

They didn’t have his picture
But resembled what he wore
And how I wished I had one
Sitting in my dresser drawer!

In doctor-white, with buttons
Going neck-high up the side,
The wearer would be filled with
Fans of Dr. Kildare pride.

A classmate owned one and she wore it,
Showing off, at school.
Ironically, she found Ben Casey,*
M.D., much more cool.

Compared to tie-in clothes today,
A Dr. Kildare smock
Was rare enough that even E-Bay
Has not one in stock.

*Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey, M.D.
were two popular T.V. shows about doctors
in the 1960’s

A Shady Bench

Been cooped inside for months except
For exercise at dawn
Until today, when to the river
We were strongly drawn.

The mugginess had disappeared
And with a gentle breeze
It felt delightful strolling
‘Neath the softly swaying trees.

We fortunately nabbed a bench
And knew we had it made
Because it was a rare one
In a lovely patch of shade.

To check out boats and people watch
Allowed me to believe
That life was back to normal
And I didn’t want to leave.

Alas, we gave our bench away
And, at a languid pace,
Proceeded home to our cocoon,
Our masks held firm in place.

Midnight Protest

Close to midnight, I jolted awake
By the noise only honking horns make
So I ran to look out
To see what was about
And I saw lots of cars, all a’brake.

The cacophony rattled the night,
Joined by sirens en route to the site.
What the protest was for
I assumed was some more
Black Lives Matter folks, showing their might.

It was not until morning, I learned
That the wrath all those honking cars earned
Had a different cause
And it gave me some pause
As it should have to all those concerned.

The protesters were Jews, quite irate
For their neighborhood, many nights straight,
Has been filled with the booms,
Very loud, one assumes,
Of the fireworks dreaming folks hate.

Thus, the point of their clamorous drive
Was from sleep they’d the mayor deprive,
But their plan wasn’t good
So they woke my whole ‘hood
And I got through today half-alive.

Phase Two

The playground gates are open
And folks can eat outdoors
In restaurants and bars, as well as 
Shop inside of stores.

Salons and barbershops will make
Appointments for their cuts
But masks must be in place, of course,
No ifs or ands or buts.

Though offices may now begin
To welcome back their staff, 
The occupancy at one time
Cannot be more than half.

The city’s slowly crawling back, 
Yet normal it is not.
I guess we should appreciate 
The “normal” that we’ve got.

A Morning Moment

At 6 a.m. or thereabouts 
I walk past Peter Pan,
A lovely statue in the park
Of which I am a fan.

That early, I am oft alone
When I go strolling by,
But not today, for in the air
I heard the softest sigh

Of melody and on a bench
A man with a guitar
Was strumming, just for Peter,
His sole audience so far.

He didn’t even glance my way
As I believed he might
But the music and the moment
Made an early day delight.

Breaking Down

This morning our computer died;
Our car won’t start as well.
The bathroom sink was clogged last month;
Our hand-washed towels smell.

The pipe beneath the kitchen sink
Had water shooting out.
A total breakdown seems to be
What life is all about.

The super fixed the pipe; tomorrow
We’ll call Triple-A
And hopefully a jump will make 
The battery obey.

We ordered a computer.
(Ours was really kind of old.)
The bathroom drain’s all clear 
From something Amazon extolled.

For one thing I am grateful -
With our car and P.C. dead,
I have to thank my lucky stars
It isn’t us instead.

Uncle Ben

The rice I use is Uncle Ben’s
Or was until today,
For just like Aunt Jemima,
Uncle Ben will go away.

He’s leaving with a friend of his
Named Mrs. Butterworth.
Like Aunt Jemima, she is known,
By many, for her girth.

To think of all that packaging
About to go to waste!
I hope that their replacements
Have, in both ways, better taste.

The World Will Never

The world will never be the same
And I don’t know if I
Could ever join a crowd again,
No matter when or why.

A subway car? A baseball game?
A concert or a show?
Museum? Airplane? Restaurant?
Not sure when I will go.

A wedding? Craft fair? Tennis match?
A river cruise? A mall?
I just can’t picture being packed
With people, not at all.

A zoo or playground, lake or beach
I hope I can reclaim
But maybe not, because the world
Will never be the same.

Checkered

A pattern like a checkerboard
Is one that I adore,
On clothing, bedding, even rugs
Or tiles upon a floor.

Though stripes and dots and plaid are nice,
I’m partial to the squares,
Especially in black and white;
Not one design compares.

Those little boxes neatly wrought
To me are unsurpassed,
Except, of course, for someone
Who must hide a checkered past.

Baby Steps

Today I had a Covid test,

But first, to leave the house,

I had to sort through clothes to find

A normal shirt or blouse.

I ironed one and then I found

A pair of jean Capris,

For what I wear relaxed at home

Is stuff nobody sees.

I do go out to exercise

Each morning, close to dawn,

When clothing meant for working out

Is what I have thrown on.

Yet this would be my first foray

To walk each city street

A half-mile to the test site

From a 3 month long retreat.

Of course, nobody glanced my way

And with my hat and mask,

Anonymously I strode on

To undertake my task.

To be outdoors felt alien,

A bit of needed prep

For to reemerge and join the world

Requires baby steps.

Crushed

On the day of the contest, she rushed,
With her hair looking hardly half-brushed.
Yet she took to the stage
Glancing down at the page
And read confidently, feeling flushed.

Back at home, all her family just gushed
When she read them her poems; now the hushed
Crowd of spectators stared
As the winners were aired.
Unprepared for defeat, she felt crushed.

Raising the Stakes

In troubled times, when people join,
United in resistance,
They share a common hope to find
A peaceful coexistence.

Perhaps they march or chant or sing
While others watch and wonder
If change can be the end result
Of anger’s zeal and thunder.

Or will the protests and the pleas
Fade back to what we’re used to
Before our phones replaced the need
For any network’s news crew?

The expectation now is that
Events may yet compel us
To raise the stakes and seek reform,
But only time will tell us.

Humdrum

Reading, eating, watching, writing –
Such is life, not too exciting.
Cleaning, texting, sewing, walking,
FaceTime phone calls or just talking.

Hearing, seeing, tasting, smelling –
Nothing lately’s so compelling.
Solving crosswords and debating
How much longer we’ll be waiting.

Writing, watching, eating, reading –
All the basics that I’m needing.
Walking, sewing, texting, cleaning –
Man, I’m sick of quarantining!

Renewal

In the mail, a supplication:
Time now to renew.
Your yearly fee for discount tix
Is very shortly due.

I see a lot of Broadway shows
And small productions, too.
The TDF* sells tickets
To boost theatres’ revenue.

Of course, all stages still are dark.
There won’t be a debut
Of any long-awaited drama,
Concert or revue.

And when will I feel comfortable
To crowd in with a slew
Of other theatre-lovers,
Their proximity taboo?

The answer is a big unknown
For I don’t have a clue
When my Broadway visits will resume;
I’ll likely miss my cue.

*Theatre Development Fund

Venturing Out

My husband ventured out today,
His virus on the wane.
He only took the briefest walk
But didn’t much complain.

For he was thrilled (and so was I)
To see him well enough
To leave his snug cocoon and have
The strength to strut his stuff.

He won’t be running marathons
And this I underscore
Because, in truth, he wasn’t running
Marathons before.

Karo Light Corn Syrup

Way way back on a kitchen shelf
Was a bottle sitting by itself.
It was Karo syrup, 1 pint size
But to use it now, I would not advise.

For the label, stamped with a “Buy Before”
Had a date no home cook could ignore.
If you took a guess, I can guarantee
You’d not choose “November ’83.”

Yet I tell the truth, though it sounds absurd
(The specific date is November 3^rd)
And the price tag reads “a dollar five” –
That’s before some readers were alive!

Did I ever use that stuff to bake
Rice Krispie treats, a pie or cake?
If so, whatever was the sweet
Was not deemed worthy to repeat.

That Karo syrup sat and sat
In its apartment habitat,
Discovered now, by circumstance;
So will I use it? Not a chance!

Phase One

We’ve just begun; we’re in phase one.
With baby steps we’re starting,
Although we must remember that
The danger’s not departing.

So work resumes, but still the Zooms
Will substitute for meetings
As masks and six-feet distances
Will rule in-person greetings.

No eating out for there is doubt
That restaurants are ready
And customers won’t risk their health
For chef-prepared spaghetti.

Our mom & pops and barber shops
Are not phase one included
And schools, museums, shows and malls
Are equally excluded.

One thing that’s gone I counted on
Is 7 p.m. clapping,
A lovely come-together time
I wasn’t up for scrapping.

It energized and symbolized
The spirit of the city
So even though we’re moving on,
To lose that is a pity.

Ordering Online

To prove we haven’t given up,
We order things online
Since objects meant for future use
Imply that we are fine.

A sweet dessert, a case of beer
Or scotch or gin or wine
Can elevated our kitchen meals
To ones at which we dine.

Some nitrile gloves, a spiffy mask
Of chic and cool design
Remind us that to safety
While in style we can incline.

A buzzing insect’s gotten in?
To Amazon, assign
The sending of a swatter
So that fly will toe the line.

For every penny that we spend
Is proof that we still pine
For a future that our purchases
May somehow thus define.

The Platter Clean

My husband likes to cook and that’s
A lucky thing for me
For I am the recipient
Of his gastronomy.

He hardly tastes what he prepares.
His culinary skills
Are aimed to please my palate;
It’s my belly that he fills.

Like Jack Sprat and his wife, we are,
Without the fat and lean.
He cooks, I eat, he clears, I wash –
Our dinnertime routine.

Eclipsed

For days, then weeks, we’ve been obsessed,
Our thoughts pandemic-driven
And focusing on something else
Might not be quite forgiven.

Until a senseless crime occurred,
Resulting in a death
And suddenly, the quarantined
Breathed one communal breath.

The empty streets were filled again
With those whose coexistence
Did not allow for worry
About six-feet social distance.

Released, with pent-up energy,
From sheltering-in-place,
The crowds who marched in protest
Had a purpose to embrace.

The virus was eclipsed because
Our fears, so fraught and stark,
Bubbled over when confronted
With a unifying spark.

Hugs

Hypodermic needles
Get you medicine real fast,
Allowing drugs to enter
Into bloodstreams like a blast.

To transfer one’s affection
Like a needle-piercing drug
Can be managed very simply
Through the power of a hug.

The hug I mean is strong and close,
Enveloping and tight,
The kind that the recipient
Will know’s not just polite.

When I can see my friends again,
My children and my grands,
My hugs will speak a language
Every huggee understands.

Introspection

I’m a rhymer all-the-timer
And a follower of rules.
I’m afraid of crowded places
And of virus molecules.

I’m a reader and a leader
In resisting any change.
I’m content with my surroundings;
Feel no need to rearrange.

I am jealous and I’m zealous
When it comes to kith and kin.
I’m competitive in sports and games
And always play to win.

My complacence with impatience
Means, for me, there is no cure
And when stressed I freak out quickly.
(I’m not proud of that, for sure.)

Introspection and reflection
Are what all these hours can do.
What’s the point of all this knowledge?
I don’t really have a clue.

                                           

Certain Days

Certain days feel much longer than long
With too much in the world that is wrong
But I don’t have a clue
If there’s more we can do
Than just suck it all up and be strong.

For complaining accomplishes naught
And despite all that we have been taught
There are times we’re just stuck
When not even some luck
Can provide the relief that we’ve sought.

We can hope that tomorrow will bring
An injection of gusto and zing
Or a smidgeon of hope
Lowered down like a rope
For escaping, to which we can cling.

Outside My Door

First I heard the rotor blades,
Their noisiness supplanting
The birdsong taking traffic’s place;
Then I heard the chanting.

Peering out the window, I was
Shaken and surprised
To see crowds of people marching;
It was later televised.

Wearing masks and holding placards
They advanced with strong intent,
Linked by youth, resolve and passion
And united in dissent.

Would their peaceful protest shatter
Like the ones the night before
And might looting and destruction
Happen right outside my door?

I was pulled back to the 60’s
When we rallied seeking peace,
So defiant with our armbands,
Facing off against the police.

But this time, in my apartment,
Safe nine stories from the ground,
I looked down in disbelief,
My sadness sweeping and profound.

Up and Dance

The radio’s a lifeline
And for hours every day
We flip from blues to classical
But sometimes we will stray.

My husband found a station
Which plays oldies in the morn
And salsa in the afternoon;
You cannot be forlorn

When the music taps that place inside
That makes you up and dance
Despite the fact you’re grounded
In the current circumstance.

So yesterday I cha-cha-ed
Getting on my Latin groove
And with just my spouse to see me,
There were none to disapprove.

While this morning, there was Motown
And some early disco funk
As I pranced through the apartment
With some rare 6 a.m. spunk.

To lose oneself to dance is all
The therapy I need,
For joy comes front and center,
Letting agita* recede.

*anxiety, stress or aggravation