The Irony

 The sign outside the bakery 

Said no one need be masked

If vaccinated, but as people 

Entered, no one asked.

My spouse and I, both with vaccines, 

Still wear our masks indoors

Which, since we’re extra cautious,

Means some food-related stores.

The bakery (a cafe, too)

Was crowded, but no face

Was covered by a mask at all

In the entire place.

Were all those people honest?

Surely, some of them were not,

But we, with masks, got glances

Like we’d both refused our shot.

Condom-ideam

An athlete used a condom

When she needed to repair

Her kayak, for in Tokyo

It suffered damage there.

She made a TikTok video,

Now viral, of her work,

Then won some medals thanks to

An Olympic Village perk.

Seems condoms are ubiquitous

For athletes at the Games,

With 60,000 given out;

(Can’t tamp Olympic flames!)

Most likely, no one ever thought

Their use could be so bold,

In unexpected fashion,

To help someone earn the gold!

That is How

The wind, she whips.

The leaves, they dance.

The gulls, they swoop.

The pups, they prance.

 

The clouds, they loom.

The waves, they slap.

The boats, they glide.

The birds, they flap.

 

The time, it ticks.

The thoughts, they flow

And that is how

A poem does grow.

On Display

The rising sun is on display

For anyone to see

Though few are out to notice –

Just the lucky ones, like me.

 

The past few days I can’t describe

Its color – like a mix

Of neon pink and orange-red,

A hue that does transfix.

 

It hangs there in the sky like that

For minutes, that is all –

A glowing and transcendent orb,

An incandescent ball.

 

Yet as it inches upward,

All that color changes fast.

Such beauty overpowers;

Seems it isn’t meant to last.

 

The folks who show up later,

When the sun has drifted high,

Do not realize what they’ve missed

By letting magic pass them by.

Olympic Pressure

Imagine being Katie or Naomi or Simone.

The world has expectations and it won’t leave you alone.

Your performances’ perfection has been touted and extolled,

So anything will be a loss if it won’t get the gold.

 

Well, pressure takes its toll and therefore, even with the buffers

Of team and coach support, sometimes a well-rehearsed act suffers.

Katie* gets the silver as the Aussie’s time is faster;

Naomi** loses to a Czech, a Japanese disaster.

 

And Simone***, the gymnast everyone believes to be the best

Leaves the competition early, feeling out of sorts and stressed.

It seems the build-up is too much and many athletes just

Cannot function when their hopes and dreams may suddenly combust.

 

*Katie Ledecky   **Naomi Osaka   ***Simone Biles

A Seat in the Shade

Today, I’m afraid

That a seat in the shade

Isn’t even the slightest bit cool,

So each person who’s stayed

And the choice that she’s made

Must appear to be that of a fool.

 

When there’s A/C at home

There’s no reason to roam

With the temps hitting 90 degrees,

So as I write my poem,

Every brain cell I comb

Tells me – get back inside right now – please!

A Birthday Present

A birthday present to yourself

Is perfect, which makes sense,

For it’s exactly what you want,

No matter the expense.

 

Your closest friends and family

May give a gift that’s cool.

But it will rarely be what you’d

Have chosen, as a rule.

 

So on your birthday, go ahead

And splurge in your own name.

If your purchase isn’t perfect,

You’ll have just yourself to blame.

Life is Just a Bowl of Cherry Tomatoes

A backyard planter bursting with

Tomatoes on the vine

Provided treats for several mouths

And one of them was mine.

 

My son’s the one who grew ‘em.

His daughter and her aunt

Plucked only those deemed red enough;

The rest stayed on the plant.

 

While picking was in progress,

My son trimmed leaves that died,

Which my grandgirl helped me gather up

To toss off to the side.

 

Though not all family members

Helped to make the chore complete,

We all reaped the rewards

Of those tomatoes, ripe and sweet.

A Chance to Read

I never let a day pass by

Without a chance to read,

For words provide the nourishment 

On which my mind does feed.  

To fiction I’m addicted;

Every chapter is a fix,

The Times and The New Yorker

Adding interest to the mix.

My grandson’s sitting next to me,

A chapter book in hand,

The joy of reading something

That we each can understand.

How wonderful to share with those

We love the pure delight

Of reading stories that

Another reader chose to write.

At My Feet

As soon as I sit

There’s a bird at my feet,

Just checking to see

If I’ve something to eat.

 

I don’t feed the pigeons

Or sparrows I see.

The crumbs that they want

Come from others, not me.

 

They soon figure out

That no treats I’ll supply,

So a couple of pecks,

And they take to the sky.

 

I’ll give them some credit

For trying, at least.

Each person who sits

Holds a possible feast.

 

Reminds me of those

Who play Lotto each week.

They never give up

As their fortune they seek.

 

The odds are the same

As the pigeons who’ve been

Thinking one of these days

They will certainly win!

The Worry Machine

The clothes we wear get dirty 

Or, once worn, are not so fresh,

So they get cleaned (or should) before

They’re back against our flesh.

Now wouldn’t it be wonderful 

If, like our dirty wash,

Our problems could be laundered

And would disappear? Oh, gosh!

We’d load our worries and our stress,

Each sorrow, dread and fear

Into some contraption, spinning ‘til

They all would disappear.

Each day would start out crisp and clean

And we could reassert 

Our better selves, at least until

The build-up of new dirt.

Bottoms Up

At a sports event in Europe*

Norway got a hefty fine,

For their players were competing 

In some shorts that crossed the line.

For the only proper bottoms 

Are bikinis, so the crowd 

Gets a peek at much more tush

Than what it seems the shorts allowed.

As the spectators were cheering,

Maybe Norway got some boos,

Since the team from Spain provided

Much more titillating views.

*Beach handball championships 

Veins

Below the surface of my skin

A roadmap lies; it’s always been

A part of me that lives inside

But nowadays, it’s magnified.

 

Those thin blue lines, once hidden, now

Are visible and thus allow

Whoever sees those veins to gauge

The proof of my advancing age.

 

Of course, the rest of me, as well,

Gives other ways that they could tell;

Yet, as that roadmap’s path proceeds,

It makes me think of where it leads.

On a Leash

The dogs resist, the owners tug;

The passersby who see that shrug

For humans have the upper hand,

Their pets attuned to their command.

 

I often wonder what they’d choose

To do instead, when they refuse –

Remain in place to sniff a scent

Or run to where the squirrel went.

 

Perhaps they merely want it known

That, more than any treat or bone,

They really want to have a voice

In where to go that is their choice.

 

Alas, the ones who wear a leash,

Who might be thinking, Really? Sheesh!

Don’t have the chance to disobey

Or, tethered so, to run away.

Drinking Waughta (New York Style)

I really oughta drink my waughta

Since it’s so darn hot.

I’d prefer iced cawfee

But this waughta’s all I’ve got.

 

Still, it is impawtant,

In the heat, to quench your thoist.

Other drinks can wait, but waughta

You should drink up foist.

Sinkhole

A sinkhole, deep as 20 feet,

Collapsed without a warning,

Around the corner from my street 

Quite early in the morning.

Repair crews came but no one knows

What caused the sudden sinking.

Decrepitude, some folks suppose,

But not what we were thinking.

Ineptitude‘s what we would blame,

For workers have been toiling 

On that same block where they became

The source of tempers roiling.

They somehow cannot seem to fix

What underground befuddles,

So residents have had a mix 

Of flames, closed streets and puddles.

Our car was parked right down the block

Where that huge hole descended.

It would have come as quite a shock

If that’s how my life ended.

A Little Test

It’s easy to convince myself

That talking on the phone

Or via Zoom or texting

Makes me feel much less alone.

 

Of course, it does, to some extent

But what about the rest?

To realize it’s a fallacy,

Just try this little test:

 

Go visit friends or family

You’ve not seen in an age

And grab them in the biggest hug

Your body can engage.

 

You’ll have to then acknowledge

That long-distance love, though sweet,

When measured next to face-to-face

Just really can’t compete.

Nifty

My mind is filled with thinking.

My belly’s filled with food.

My body may be shrinking

But today I will not brood.

 

I’m sitting where it’s shady

With the river at my feet,

Just a New York City lady

With no deadlines I must meet.

 

A fireboat goes zipping,

Leaving foam within its wake.

The joggers’ sweat is dripping;

Running now is a mistake.

 

I come to my conclusions

When I’m calm and have the time,

Giving in to the illusions

They will make a nifty rhyme.

Useless Emotions

I took a course to manage stress

When I began to teach,

A goal which seemed impossible

And which I’ve yet to reach.

 

Yet there was just one thing I learned

Which makes a lot of sense –

Regret and worry only serve

To hurt, at our expense.

 

For worry ratchets up the nerves,

Obscuring other needs

While regret picks at a healing wound

Until it stings and bleeds.

 

Those two emotions keep us stuck

In limbo and in pain

Though by letting go, it’s obvious

There’s so much we would gain.

Gypsy No More

What we once called a gypsy moth

Will get another name;

In caterpillar form, as well,

Its fate will be the same.

 

For “gypsy” is derogatory

And the name offends.

Political correctness means

That what is hurtful ends.

 

Old habits don’t die easy deaths

So many still will claim

That gypsy moths are being drawn

Like you-know-whats to flame.

Hexagons

The walkway’s paved with hexagons

For visual appeal.

From smoother paths, there’s not a difference

I can really feel.

 

But over time, all roads will need

Appropriate repair

Since cracks and dips will form

As a result of all that wear.

 

Some hexagons are loosening

And others lie askew.

I wonder what the ones in charge

Will someday choose to do.

 

Replacing such a promenade

Requires time and skill.

My guess is there’ll be one flat path

With a much smaller bill.

By the River

The scent of marijuana wafts

Right by me on the air.

I do not see the smoker and

I really do not care.

 

A motorboat is bouncing

On the river; it its wake

Two jet ski riders race on by,

Like winning is at stake.

 

The ferries pick up passengers,

Discharge the ones on board.

Some swallows swoop past people’s heads

But mostly, they’re ignored.

 

As runners jog and cycles roll

And exercisers walk,

I sit and watch the human stream

That flows here in New Yawk.

 

The city’s lost some sizzle

And may not regain its glow,

But when I sit by the river,

It’s the city that I know.

Brand-New Tank

 The fish is in a brand-new tank 

With lots of room for moving

And now that he is settled in,

He can get down to grooving.

A tail swish here, a fin flip there;

It’s back and forth for hours 

Or hovering in place just like

A hummingbird in flowers.

It’s nice to have a bigger space 

For swimming and residing.

Now all this fish is missing

Is a buddy while he’s gliding.

A'Musing

At 6 a.m. this morning’s sun

Was huge and orange-red,

Without a hint of what the day

Would be like hours ahead.

 

For now the sky is full of clouds

With not a speck of blue.

That orange orb is hidden

And they say a storm's a’brew.

 

At least there is a little breeze

So I can sit until

The raindrops head my way; by then

I will have had my fill.

Thunderstorm Watch

There’s a thunderstorm watch

Though it’s sunny outside

So I don’t feel the need

To take cover or hide.

 

Yet it may come to call

Like the weatherman said

And that knowledge will fill

Many people with dread.

 

But I don’t feel afraid;

I don’t need to be out.

If the thunder goes boom

I’ll enjoy it, no doubt.

 

For when Nature decides

She has reason to vent,

I admire her pluck

(To a certain extent).

One Hummingbird

 I mixed some sugar water,

Hoping there would be a visit.

One hummingbird obliged, but oh,

That viewing was exquisite.

He darted to the feeder,

Little winglets all a’blur

And he sipped to his contentment 

(Or it maybe should be her).

I grabbed my iPhone camera,

Thinking I could catch that sight, 

But just one hummingbird came by 

And still, that is all right. 

The Garbage Truck Redux

 The garbage truck goes by; I flash

To seven years ago.

I’d lift my grandson up and then,

His eager face a’glow…

We’d step outside so he could watch

The sanitation crew

Dump everything recycled 

In the truck for it to chew.

The men would wave and we would wait

Until they drove away,

A little part of our routine

On babysitting day.

These days he barely notices

When pick-up’s taking place,

But I remember and it brings

A smile to light my face. 

July 4th

 If you’re an American, 4th of July

Conjures fireworks, hot dogs and beer.

The barbecue sizzles and friends gather ‘round

To acknowledge that summer is here.

We rarely remember the battles once fought

To gain independence at last.

The focus is partying on a day off

And not on lives lost in the past.

So let’s light up the grill and toss frisbees and drink 

While American flags we do wave,

But we shouldn’t forget all those patriots who

Made a home for the free and the brave.

At Your Own Risk

They can’t get lifeguards for the lake

And everyone’s on summer break

And so, just for vacation’s sake,

It’s swim at your own risk.

 

For swimmers, there’s a lot at stake

And when their skin begins to bake,

It’s quite an easy choice to make,

Their water entry brisk.

 

Bravado is a breeze to fake

And confidence is hard to shake.

Let’s hope this choice is no mistake

Or we will hear tsk tsk.

Unvaccinated

 I haven’t seen the dentist

Since pre-Covid days, although

I’m finally feeling ready and

I called to tell him so.

I questioned the receptionist 

If he’d received his shot.

Her answer, most evasive,

Let me know that he had not.

I told her, “Have him call me,”

Which he did and when he called,

He said he needed no vaccine,

Which had me quite appalled.

Since he had beaten Covid,

He has antibodies now.

His hygienist does, as well;

To that he’d take a vow.

I thanked him for his time, but

After seeing him for years, 

I’ve found somebody new 

Who’s vaccinated, it appears.

We all must do what we must do

So we feel safe and sound 

And on this issue, what I know

Is I must stand my ground.

Reflections

Ferry on the river;

‘Copter in the sky.

Bicycles and scooters

(Some with bells!) all pass me by.

 

Joggers pound the pavement;

Walkers simply stroll.

Benches are deserted.

(Recent raindrops took a toll.)

 

Still, I’m out here sitting,

Checking out the scene,

Feeling not quite up or down

But somewhere in between.

 

As my trusty pencil

Jots each thought upon a line,

It helps record reflections

Found within this mind of mine.