The Debate

“Devoid of decorum and dignity”

Is one of the quotes that I heard.

To know it relates to the POTUS debates

Is as awful as it is absurd.

On one side, a bully whose bluster

Would get him suspended from school;

With no self-control and a hole in his soul,

He’s a pompous, perfidious fool.

 

On the other side, he who’d replace him

Wants to pacify, help and unite

Yet in making his case, what instead he must face

Is a nasty below-the-belt fight.

 

In the middle, befuddled and helpless,

Is the person who should be in charge

But when things go off-track, he can’t stop the attack,

Like a substitute teacher writ large.

 

We watch, feeling sick and despondent,

In shock at how low we have sunk

And that outrage and shame, for which we have no name,

Lingers on in a nightmarish funk.

Alarms

I’ll never get used to alarms

Though homeowners see all their charms.

It’s too easy to make

Just one tiny mistake

Which can cause some to be up in arms.

 

To disarm one you need fob or code

Or you’ll wake an entire abode

For the noise it emits

Blows one’s eardrums to bits

And those woken from sleep may explode.

 

In the city, alarm use is rare

And it isn’t that people don’t care

But a doorman and lock

Chase the thieves from the block

To the suburbs – alarmers beware!

Paying Taxes

For those who pay our taxes

We should be a little peeved

To discover how much larceny

Our leader has achieved.

 

Yes, his so-called 4-year “audit”

Kept the truth from its release,

In addition to the many palms

He surely had to grease.

 

Now The New York Times gained access.

It’s all there; no need for clues

And no one but those deluded

Would believe it’s just “fake news.”

 

To each voter undecided:

Please put on your thinking cap.

Can you vote for a cheater who also

Thinks each taxpayer’s merely a sap?

Traditions

I’m not at all religious

But when holidays roll ‘round,

I follow the traditions

To which I have long been bound.

 

I cook and bake the recipes

Passed down from year to year

And use my nicest dishes

To improve the atmosphere.

 

I even wear a skirt, although

My husband wouldn’t care

If I plopped down at the table

In a tee and underwear.

 

The rituals and customs

That I learned of long ago

Don’t reflect beliefs, but rather

A connection to bestow.

Secrets Revealed

The ferry was a secret

That I didn’t want to share

And since I’m going nowhere now

I really shouldn’t care.

 

Yet sitting by the terminal,

I watch the hordes crowd on

And realize that my private

Transportation’s surely gone.

 

The boats have been discovered

And my neighborhood as well,

The quiet never to return,

As far as I can tell.

My Sunrise Buddies

On my morning walks, I often pass

A few familiar faces,

Some fellow exercising types

Who, early, tie their laces.

 

Though several won’t make contact –

Not a glance or nod or smile –

A couple do connect

And seem to go that extra mile.

 

A man about my age will nod

And shout out daily greetings.

It always cheers me up to have

One of our passing meetings.

 

The other guy’s much younger,

Maybe 30, give or take.

He smiles and waves “Good morning!” -

Such a pleasant move to make.

 

I do not know a thing about them –

Job, address or name –

But they’re my sunrise buddies

And I like them, all the same.

Disfigured

Someone disfigured our car

And really, I think, went too far.

No tires were slashed;

No windshield was smashed

But the perps seemed to lower the bar.

 

A sticker was placed on the back

Which felt just like a coward’s attack;

On the metal, not bumper

And left by a Trumper,

Both reason and cause it did lack.

 

My husband did what he could do

And scraped it all off, but some glue

Seemed to stick; what he saw

Still is stuck in my craw –

Seeing red makes me feel much more blue.

Buzzing Off

An insect was crawling my way

As I sat on a park bench today.

Getting closer to me

I saw it was a bee

And I hoped I’d not end up as prey.

 

Though it passed me, it stayed within sight

And I wondered if passersby might

Squash it flat as they neared

But none did; it appeared

Fearing luck would run out it took flight.

Jackhammer

If you could hear what I do

You would surely have your fill

For I’ve spent the past few hours

Being blasted by a drill.

 

They’re tearing up the street outside

And that incessant noise

Does much more than just annoy –

Your concentration it destroys.

 

I cannot hear my music

And believe I’m on the brink

Of relinquishing the brain cells

That I need to stop and think.

 

There are sounds that are acceptable

But others make you crack

Like the jackhammer outside

Which feels akin to an attack!

A Shot in the Arm

 We both got our flu shots today.

At certain locations, you’d pay

But where we did go

Takes insurance and so

Now we’ve gotten it out of the way.

 

Each year when I get the vaccine,

Which is part of my health care routine,

I close eyes for the stick,

Which is over real quick,

But still hurts, if you know what I mean.

 

Yet if I do come down with the flu

It won’t be quite as bad; wish I knew

That for Covid 19

There will be a vaccine

That will safely soon make its debut.

Tossing Sins

On Rosh Hashanah, what we do

Is throw our sins away.

We save them up all year, but then

One day we have to pay.

 

A piece of bread (or else a rock)

Is used to represent

Whatever things we’ve said or done

That we’ve come to lament.

 

Some moving water is required –

A river, stream or sea

And into this we toss our sins –

At least, symbolically.

 

Then hopefully our slate is clean.

Some prayers we do impart

So we can face the coming year

With what’s a fresh new start.

 

If only we could take our fears,

Our worries and our stress

And make them likewise disappear –

What joy we would possess!

RIP RBG

 How I wish t’were not the truth

That we must bid farewell to Ruth.

Her feisty manner, top-notch brain

Will always in our thoughts remain.

Without her, we should fear the Court,

On women’s rights, will come up short

And Mitch, the lowest hypocrite,

Will labor to make sure of it.

Oh, RBG, I know you tried

To cling to life and thus provide

A chance for a new president

To honor what you represent.

Alas, in life, we can’t predict

When things will end or who’ll get picked

But Justice Ginsburg, you have graced

Our lives and cannot be replaced.

School Today

The grandkids have gone back to school

Eight-thirty ‘til eleven,

The days too short for even them,

At ages five and seven.

 

We walked them there and picked them up

But classes weren’t adjourning;

Instead, the laptops came on board

For blocks of online learning.

 

We’re in way over both our heads

On mouseless Chrome computers

And also on the hilly streets

Where they like riding scooters.

 

Despite some stress, we still had fun;

Our grandkids are delicious,

But getting back to full-time school,

Let’s hope is expeditious.

Tap Dancing on Zoom

My classes switched to Zoom

And so I thought I’d take a chance.

I dusted off my tap shoes and

Prepared to loudly dance.

 

But all the alte kockas*

Couldn’t figure out the tech,

While they fiddled with devices

From their kitchen, den or deck.

 

“I can’t hear you! I can’t see you!

Why are you not on my screen?”

On their laptops, phones or tablets

They could not get with the scene.

 

After more than half an hour

We could finally start to move

And, although my shoes were tight,

I danced and got into the groove.

 

My brushes and my shuffles

Weren’t crisp or cleanly done

Though I have to say I really

Had an awful lot of fun.

 

Still, I hope next week goes smoother

Since we’ve learned a thing or two,

So the sign-in should be faster

And my tap shoes will be new!

 

*old farts (loosely translated from Yiddish)

Grounding Out

My percolator lost its balance

While it was a’bubble,

Spilling all the coffee grounds

And causing lots of trouble.

Below the burners there’s a space

For storing pots and covers,

A perk (no pun intended)

For apartment-living lovers.

Well, coffee grounds were everywhere

As well as brew half-finished

And suddenly my leisure time

For breakfast was diminished.

An hour later, all was clean.

Still, though I wasn’t shirking,

I noticed only 3 of 4

Gas burners now were working.

I made another pot of joe,

My morning meal much later

And took no chances, using

A much bigger percolator.

The stubborn burner got in gear

And soon was back on fire.

I’m glad my stove (from 1951)

Need not retire.

In Memoriam

My Zoom reunion had a part

That featured those who’ve died

And as the faces flashed on screen

I watched them, teary-eyed.

They chose to use their yearbook pics

So we could recognize

The way they looked in high school;

Still, it came as a surprise -

So many gone I used to know.

Of what, I have no clue.

In life, there are no guarantees

No matter what you do.

I’m glad the slide show featured

Photos taken way back when,

For seeing those fresh faces

Helped remember them again.

The Old Days

I said to my husband, “I couldn’t stay up

To watch for the tennis match end.

In the old days, I’d never have fallen asleep –

On that you could surely depend.”

My spouse came right back with this perfect retort:

“There is so much that age won’t allow,

But you should be aware, if you aren’t, that, duh,

You are living the old days right now!”

Disconnect

A high school reunion on Zoom;

Alumni all home in a room.

Each face that I’ll see

Like a stranger to me

As I will be to them, I assume.

I haven’t seen most now for years.

We’ve traveled in different spheres.

So then why should I care

What I look like or wear

To this jury of long-ago peers?

Yet, preparing before it will start

I get dressed and make-up for the part,

Though my face on the screen

Will look less like a teen

Than an image no lens can outsmart.

In the mirror, I see what I know

But the camera makes each wrinkle grow.

Still, I’m living my life –

Nana, friend, mom and wife

So my aging is quite apropos.

Roman Numerals

X marks the spot if it’s V plus V

Or what XC needs to add up to C.

To the left of L or perhaps the right

There’s a difference some would consider slight.

Once the C’s add up, then it’s time for D

Which will last ‘til M’s a necessity.

Then it’s fun to challenge a boy whose path

May be one that follows the joys of math.

Placing X and I, L and M and C

To make sense brought smiles to both him and me

So we stopped at the point when I’d taught him plenty

And he knew MMXX was 2020!

Intro to September 11th

My son sat down his children

To explain, a little bit,

About the day the Towers,

In 2001, were hit.

Their school sends daily messages

To watch upon a screen.

Today’s contained a reference

To what this date should mean.

My grandkids (5 and 7)

Never heard of this before.

Their father, very gently,

Opened up that looming door.

With just the bare essentials,

But the horror kept at bay,

He let them know that every year

We note this special day.

In time, they’ll learn the details

Which are seared into my brain

But for now, I’m glad their innocence

Will hopefully remain.

Baby's First Chore

Mom and baby, in the rain;

Arms hold babe and dog on chain.

No umbrella – getting wet;

Not a one appears to fret.

Walk to corner – garbage pail

Plus a box to drop the mail.

Mama hands her tot a bag,

Small enough for babe to snag.

Then I realize what’s inside –

Poo their doggie has supplied.

Baby holds it gingerly

Then lets it go with practiced glee.

It hits the sidewalk near the can.

Mom bends down, like that’s the plan,

Then chucks it in; they turn around

To their apartment, homeward bound.

City baby’s done her chore

Like she has likely done before

And I proceed for my last mile,

Plastered with a city smile.

Cleaning Up

A country road, a clutch of crows

And this is how it went:

They’d land right in the middle

With mysterious intent.

They’d hunt and peck until a car

Would come a bit too near,

Then they’d fly off and swoop back down

Right when the coast was clear.

Their new spot, though, was farther

Down the road from where they’d been

And then the hunt and peck routine

Would once again begin.

My husband figured out the cause,

For on that stretch of tar

Are critters squished beneath the wheels

Of every passing car.

So all those crows were cleaning up

The frogs, the slugs, the worms

That we would never notice

As we walk along the berms.

A Patch of Sun

I’m sitting in a patch of sun

That trees and clouds allow.

It seems a perfect place to be,

At least for me, right now.

I can’t see anyone at all;

My mask’s been put away,

So I’ll enjoy this sweet reprieve

That keeps the stress at bay.

The sun’s not great for cancer

But it’s warming to the soul

And chases off the chills that have

Extracted quite a toll.

The days click by and who can tell

When this strange life will end,

But in this normal patch of sun,

At least I can pretend.

Bird Eat Bird

You’ve heard of “dog eat dog?”

I always thought that was absurd

Until today; I witnessed

Something like it - bird eat bird.

A hawk came out of nowhere;

Zipped behind us in a streak

And glancing skyward, we observed

A chase of beak to beak.

A little bird, with all its might,

Flew furiously fast.

In seconds, though, the hawk caught up,

His breakfast snagged at last.

He lit upon a branch, his meal

Secured but still alive

And struggling without a chance

To possibly survive.

It made me sad; my husband said,

“That’s just what’s meant to be.

It’s Nature, after all...”

But still, not what I like to see.

Antsy

An ant was dragging an insect, 
At least 3 times its size.
Though desiccated, still it seemed
Like quite a lucky prize.

I watched its steady progress -
It would heave a bit and stop,
Hurry forth without its burden, 
Double back where it did drop.

Other ants passed by, ignoring
All the effort being made,
On their journeys through the grass
As part of some unknown crusade.

Just like humans, who don’t notice
Someone doing all the work 
While they play at being busy
Since it’s easier to shirk.

Salvation

Our grandson (7) made a game –

He christened it “Salvation.”

Before he rattled off the rules

I asked his explanation.

“Do you know what salvation means?’

I queried; he admitted

He didn’t, so I asked his sib,

Against whom he was pitted.

“I’m only 5!” his sister said.

“I don’t know anything at all.

I haven’t even started school!”

A lot of guff for one so small.

For she knows plenty, but salvation’s

Not for kindergarten,

An age-related absence

Any IQ test would pardon.

So we explained, the game went on

And, good for sib relations,

The final score was even,

Each achieving 3 “salvations.”

Pine Needles

They scootered through the neighborhood,

Their helmets strapped on tight.

On foot, we followed, making sure

That they got home all right.

We stopped beneath a pine tree,

Touched the needles, soft and green,

As I remembered years ago,

A slightly different scene:

My grandson in the stroller

Where he reached out just to feel

Those needles which held, even then,

Such strong tactile appeal.

The years fly by, each memory

Tucked safely in its place,

Just waiting to be summoned

When I need its sweet embrace.

Central Park Companions

Met some friends in Central Park,

A meeting overdue.

How wonderful to see them

And catch up on all that’s new!

We strolled around the reservoir

Then found a place to sit –

A shady bench with bushes,

Fore and aft, for just a bit.

As we conversed, a little mouse

Did scurry from the brush

To underneath our bench in quite

A mouse-like frenzied rush.

My friends were quite blasé.

One said, “Just raise your feet a bit.”

The other said, “It’s just a chipmunk.”

(She was full of shit.)

That mouse (or else its cousins)

Scampered back and forth all day,

At least for the entire time

Of our reunion stay.

Still, I must thank my lucky stars

We got to meet and that

The mouse that we encountered

Wasn’t actually a rat!

Taste Buds

I like key lime; many don’t.

Some eat liver, but I won’t.

Berries, bagels, ice cream, beer

Make me smile, yet some steer clear.

Spicy foods are not for me;

Others gulp them down with glee.

Coffee is my go-to drink;

Its aroma makes some shrink.

On our tongues our taste buds lie.

With every bite, they amplify

The sweet, the salty, bitter, sour –

Every food that we devour.

Yet our tastes are all unique,

Imbued with specialized mystique

So what I eat you might despise

And that should come as no surprise.

Silver

I’ve let my hair go silver;

I think it’s kinda cool.

Since no one really sees me,

There’s no chance for ridicule.

After years and years of dyeing,

It felt right for me to move on

So I’ll see just how it feels to get

My own old lady groove on!