Wimbledon Whites

At Wimbledon, you must wear white

To play upon the courts

And that includes your sneakers, visors,

T-shirts, socks and shorts.

 

The colour police do not allow

Off-white, ecru or cream

And sneaker soles and laces

Should be white enough to gleam.

 

A single trim of colour

May adorn your neck or cuff,

No wider than one centimetre,

Which should be enough.

 

These rules apply to underwear

As well, and all obey.

How shocking it would be

If some black lace were on display!

 

In other tennis venues

Players’ fashions may beguile

But at Wimbledon, these regulations

Cramp some people’s style.

One Hundred Four

According to my phone, it feels

Like it’s one hundred four.

The heat attacks the minute

That you walk outside the door.

 

In places where they’ve never

Had to use a/c at all,

There simply aren’t units left

To heed each desperate call.

 

I have a little country house

Where fans once did the trick,

But in this heat we packed and left,

Back to the city, quick.

 

So now in my apartment

I am stuck, but I’m no fool –

I’ve traded in the great outdoors

For someplace nice and cool.

Trilling

Oh, it’s thrilling to hear trilling

As I sit out in the shade.

All that tweeting that’s repeating

Is the reason I have stayed.

For I’m betting that the sweating

To which humankind is prone 

Has no meaning to convening 

Birds on branches where they’ve flown.

Such sweet twitter as they flitter 

Or sit warbling in trees

Makes me giddy; it’s so pretty

That it puts my mind at ease.

Whittling my Wardrobe

I’m whittling down my wardrobe

Just a little at a time.

It’s hard for me to let things go

I wore when in my prime.

 

But some clothes are out of style

Or don’t fit the way they should

And just hanging in the closet

They aren’t doing any good.

 

If I donate them, then maybe

Someone who might be in need

Could make use of what I’m tossing

And I’ve done a nice good deed.

 

I’ll admit that my main motive

Isn’t helping out the poor

But relinquishing apparel

Which I don’t wear anymore.

Our Enemy, the Sun

The sun’s become our enemy;

It’s something to avoid

And sitting without sunscreen

Can make someone paranoid.

 

In younger days we basked outside,

Reflectors set in place

To catch those rays, which guaranteed

A tan we would embrace.

 

But now the dermatologists

Give warnings we must heed –

With unprotected skin we will

Get cancer, guaranteed.

 

I’ll follow this advice

But it’s okay; since I have grayed,

I much prefer when I’m outdoors

Relaxing in the shade.

The Last Day of School

On the last day of school

Back when I was a kid,

We got our report cards

And here’s what we did –

 

We ran to our friends

And compared what we found –

The class we’d be in once

The fall came around.

 

We cheered or we cried

Knowing where we would be

And which pals in our classrooms

That we’d get to see.

 

Today those report cards

No longer exist

And there just are goodbyes

As each class is dismissed.

 

At the end of the summer

The parents will learn

Which teacher their kids will have

When they return.

 

I suppose that this method

Prevents stress and tears

But they’ll just show up when

The new school session nears.

City Birds

On a phone call with my brother,

With the river at my feet,

He was startled to hear birdsong,

City avians a’tweet.

 

And this morning, on a lamppost,

Sat a regal hawk, intent

On whatever he was thinking,

As some pigeons came and went.

 

Then this afternoon I spotted,

In a garden with my friend,

One red cardinal plus sparrows,

Nature’s urban dividend.

 

You may be surprised to hear it,

But the city’s habitat

Gives me lots to make me smile,

Long as I don’t see a rat.

40 Years Ago

Today’s the date my son was born,

Though 40 years ago.

I discovered, as a mother,

There was much I didn’t know.

 

The basics – feeding, burping, baths –

It wasn’t hard to learn

And giving love was easy –

I got so much in return.

 

But parenthood means worry

‘Bout a hundred million things

Which can sometimes overshadow

The delight that childhood brings.

 

Still, the passing years have made me

Proud of how my son has grown

And now he can understand, since

He has two kids of his own.

 

I hope that through his worry

He can focus on the joy

That he’s lucky to be getting

From his precious girl and boy.

 

And when it’s been 40 years

Since tiny diapers they have worn,

Like his mom, he will reflect

Upon the days that they were born.

Washington Square Park

A park has been making the news

Because people have differing views.

Those who live very near

Wish that all would adhere

To the rules and stop breaking taboos.

 

But a younger crowd’s recently found

They could party with no cops around

So they flock to this park,

Even more after dark,

Where their music and motors resound.

 

Since the park is a public-fed place

The old-timers would always embrace

People spending the day

In the usual way,

Not the mob that’s become a disgrace.

 

So it’s time for the city to act

When, at night, the park’s overly packed,

For the drugs and the noise

And the crowding annoys

Every neighbor who’s feeling attacked.

 

What to do when the young and the old

Find their values so often controlled

By the difference in years

Which, quite strangely, appears

To have neither side feeling consoled?

A Silvery Fish

A seagull flew by

With a fish in its beak,

A sight which, to others,

Might not be unique.

 

But here by the river,

Where I sit a bunch,

I never have witnessed

A gull with its lunch.

 

That silvery fish

Was, just moments ago,

Swimming, quite unaware,

In the waters below.

 

Never thinking its life

Would be ending today

In the gut of a gull,

Not the pleasantest way.

 

In Manhattan there always

Is room for surprise

For you never know what

Will pass right by your eyes.

Missing Fathers

My brother called to run by me

Some thoughts about our dad,

To see if mine would sync with

Certain memories he had.

 

He focused on a conversation

When, with lots to drink,

Our dad talked war, a topic

From which he’d most often shrink.

 

My recollection wasn’t clear,

Although it rang a bell

But my bro remembered details

That my father’d rarely tell:

 

Being trapped inside a foxhole

When a sudden sneak attack

Spared my dad but all his fellow troops

Would not be coming back.

 

The remainder of today I spent

With spouse and kids and grands

For a Fathers’ Day that every lucky

Parent understands.

 

But inside my head I thought about

My father and the war

And I wished he had lived long enough

To want to tell me more.

16 Masks

I counted 16 masks today,

Discarded on the street.

The back-to-normal has begun

But isn’t quite complete.

 

I’m guessing most, by accident,

Were dropped upon the ground,

Not jubilantly yanked from faces

Since new rules abound.

 

Still, 16 masks? Just weeks ago

There’d be 10 times as many

And likely, in a few months’ time,

I doubt if there’ll be any.

The Cheerleader Photo

 A cheering squad in Utah,

At a high school, did include 

A member with Down Syndrome 

With a bubbly attitude.

She worked extra hard at practice

And was liked by all who cheered,

But when she received her yearbook,

Her good humor disappeared.

For the cheerleaders were pictured,

Photogenic, they were, too,

Though one member was excluded

And I’ll give you one guess who.

Seems the cameraman requested

Double seatings for the pose - 

One with everyone, another…

Well, you know the way it goes.

So the one that made the yearbook

Was the photo incomplete 

And it made my blood just boil

To imagine that defeat.

Though apologies were given

And accepted by the teen,

We should all join in to shout

That stunt was M-E-A-N mean!

Catching Breakfast

 6 a.m. I watched a robin

As it tugged upon a worm.

When it saw me, it was startled

So it dropped it, all a’squirm.

When it knew I posed no danger 

It proceeded with its meal,

Thus affirming that the adage

‘Bout the early bird is real.

For a bird, it seems that early

Is a goal we can confirm

But the same does not apply 

To that poor breakfast-eaten worm.

Return of the Tourists

The Circle Line is chugging by,

The tourists coming back,

Perhaps because the vaccination

Rates are right on track.

 

Museums have been opening,

The Gardens and the zoos.

The clubs are back in business;

There are many things to choose.

 

I’m not quite ready to step out

From inside my cocoon,

But as I watch life moving on,

I hope to do so soon.

 

Before I travel, first I’ll try,

Like tourists on that boat,

To wade into the sea of life

To see if I can float.

Ignored

 It’s strange to be alive and yet,

To somehow be ignored

For some event in which so many

Others are on board.

It’s like you don’t exist or worse,

You never did belong

To a group where your connection,

In your mind, at least, was strong.

But feeling hurt does nothing.

You must heed the wake-up shout

And detach yourself from those who sow,

In spirits, seeds of doubt.

For as long as there are some 

Who give you love and true support,

You can let the others go

And you will never come up short.

Swallowed by a Whale

A man was swallowed by a whale

And lived to tell this humpback tale.

While lobster fishing, suddenly,

Below the waters of the sea,

 

He felt a bump then all went dark.

In fear, he thought it was a shark.

Not feeling pain, which sure was good,

He was confused, then understood

 

He’d somehow gotten swallowed whole

By some huge whale out on patrol

To catch himself a seafood meal;

He luckily did not appeal.

 

For after 30 seconds passed,

The whale spit out a giant blast

Of what he knew did not belong;

The fisherman just tasted wrong.

 

His buddy pulled him on the boat;

A happy ending, I will note.

Not many do survive, unhurt,

Rejected as a whale’s dessert.

The Sweetest Melon

At the fruit stand, in a box,

Were melons that, to me,

Were unfamiliar, not the

Ones I’m likelier to see.

 

No cantaloupes? No honeydews?

The fruit guy shook his head,

But pointed to the box which held

The green-skinned ones instead.

 

They weren’t watermelons, so

I asked what they were named.

The fruit man and his partner spoke

(Not English) and exclaimed:

 

“They’re called the sweetest melons.

You should try them – 2 for 5.”

I bought one (for 3 bucks) in hopes

That fruit men don’t connive.

 

I found it very strange, though,

That the produce in the cart

Goes by names the fruit men cannot

To their customers impart.

Disappointments

Life has disappointments

And they sometimes hurt like hell,

Though even minor let-downs

Can affect us for a spell.

 

Occasionally, we may feel

Another person’s pain

And if it’s someone close to us,

Forgetting is in vain.

 

In parenthood (and grand- as well)

We learn we can’t protect

Our progeny from others

Who belittle or reject.

 

The only thing that we can do

When things in life get tough

Is reinforce our love and hope

That it will be enough.

Tsitsipas

 In purple shorts, he paces

While he’s waiting for the serve,

So focused and intense, opponents

Likely lose their nerve.

At 22 years old, though,

He’s still relatively young

To play so well, considering

The experts he’s among.

Of all the quotes I’ve heard,

This is the one I like the best:

“Oceans cover most of earth

And Tsitsipas the rest.”

For Greece he represents the first

To make it to the end

Of a tournament whose title

Rafa’s waiting to defend.

I love to watch this player

Whose finesse imbues his game 

But I also cheer him on because

I love to say his name!

MAJUSCULE

In case you do not know the rule

For using such a word,

I’ll give some hints so that from guessing

You won’t be deterred.

A sentence must begin with one

And also someone’s name

Or any other proper noun;

Your teacher’s not to blame.

 

Some words are writ, for emphasis,

In only majuscules.

When texting, many people use

A keyboard’s handy tools.

 

Though miniscule began its life

To name a small-case letter,

Its use expanded, so it now

Means all things small – much better.

 

But majuscule got stuck in gear

And has one definition –

A letter that’s a capital;

Let’s bring this to FRUITION!

Wearing Out

For most of the people I know,

Our ages are starting to show

And since eyes, hips and knees

Don’t come with warranties,

To replace them’s the best way to go.

 

Thus, for cataracts or the main joints,

Pain or blurriness usually points

To a doctor who will

Send a Medicare bill

When a new lens or bone he anoints.

 

Just like houses and care, things wear out

And it isn’t enough just to pout.

Let the surgeon repair

What needs fixing, so there

Will be years left to gambol about.

The Vocabulary Parade

One by one, the second graders

Marched up to the mic,

Masked and costumed, though no two

Were dressed at all alike.

 

For each wore something – shirt or hat

Or giant oaktag sign

To illustrate the word that he

Or she had to define.

 

Class by class they stated names

And proudly said their word,

Then used it in a sentence

Until everyone was heard.

 

Their smiles were ample proof that all

Their efforts were rewarded,

But what was best was I could see it,

Since it was recorded.

Push - Pull

 It seems a tugboat has a choice 

When dealing with a barge - 

To push it or to pull it

And I wonder who’s in charge

Of making that decision 

Or what factors are in play.

Is pushing better sometimes?

I don’t know enough to say.

Most often when I see a tug

It’s chugging right behind 

The barge or boat it’s pushing

And it doesn’t seem to mind.

Yet earlier today I saw

A tugboat in the lead,

Pulling piles of huge containers,

An accomplishment, indeed.

For that tug was proudly doing 

Lots of tugging, like its name.

When it pushes from behind, to me,

It isn’t quite the same.

D-Day

Today I’m watching tennis –

It’s the Open set in France –

And while I cheered my favorites

As they won and could advance…

 

It struck me that it’s D-Day

And in 1944,

The Allies, under Ike,

Attacked the Nazis in the war.

 

They stormed the beach at Normandy

In a surprise attack.

Though many died, the tide was turned,

The enemy turned back.

 

In France right now, the focus

Is on what is current news –

The Covid curfew and the players

Giving interviews.

 

But on the beach at Normandy

Some veterans still met

To honor those who gave their lives

Whom we should not forget.

Matching

I learned, real young, when getting dressed –

Make sure your clothes are matching.

To such advice, back then, not many

People were detaching.

 

Some colors clashed with others;

Plaids and prints would never click.

Though styles have changed, those matching rules

Are ones that seemed to stick.

 

Not everybody follows them –

You know those certain types

Who strut around with polka dots

Worn right along with stripes.

 

I’ve got to give them credit,

For if fashion rules are broken,

It means an inner voice (though strong

And clueless) must have spoken.

Breaking Rules

 I always wonder at the folks 

Who do not follow rules,

Who violate the status quo,

Think followers are fools.

A traffic light that’s red? Who cares?

No motorbikes allowed?

Let’s speed along where people walk

And blast our music LOUD!

A flight attendant wanting me

To sit here with a mask?

I’ll knock her teeth out; maybe then,

She’ll be afraid to ask.

A bicycle chained up outside?

The owner’s not around,

So I can take it for myself 

And show off what I’ve found.

The list can just go on and on;

This stuff just isn’t right,

Yet more and more we’re powerless

To stand our ground and fight.

When rules are made and put in place,

What used to be expected

Was that they would be followed

And not nastily rejected. 

Globe

We bought our son a globe way back

When he was just a boy.

He loved to learn; we thought it would

Be something he’d enjoy.

 

He spun it ‘round from time to time

To find a certain place,

But it’s been years since anyone

Has moved it from its space.

 

Until today, when carefully

I took it from its shelf

And after wiping off the dust,

I spun it ‘round myself.

 

Some countries’ names are different now

From ones they one time had

But my grandkids might enjoy this globe

That once engrossed their dad. 

Hugs

There is nothing as good as a hug.

It works better than any known drug

And especially now

When conditions allow

Some emergence from holes we have dug.

 

For no matter how much we’re on Zoom

A caress from a separate room

Is so different from real

That we really can’t feel

The emotions a squeeze can exhume.

 

This pandemic’s kept loved ones apart

And I’m grateful that I can now start

Seeing friends face to face

In a squishing embrace

Which unlocks what’s been trapped in my heart.