Reconnecting

Flew down south to visit kin;

Two long years is what it’s been.

Thought we’d give this trip a spin –

Glad we got to do it.

 

Saw some sibs, an aunt, a cuz,

In-laws, too and one who was,

Plus two nephews, most abuzz

With shock – nobody knew it.

 

After springing the surprise,

We sat around ‘neath sunny skies

To laugh and chat and realize

That no one really blew it.

 

Since blood connections run real deep,

They’re worth the cost they take to keep

So I am glad we took the leap,

At last, to rendezvous it.

My Great Grandfather’s Arrest

My aunt told me a story

Which I’d never heard before 

About her grandpa, which took place

Around the Second War.*

Some men were playing pinochle,

A card game, in the park,

With money on the table 

When, before the sky turned dark,

Some cops appeared, arresting them,

Her grandpa in the mix.

He had to go to court, a tale

That surely does transfix.

The judge, however, gave a speech 

Admonishing the police.

Arresting 4 old Jewish men?

He ordered their release.

This story, passed down through the years,

Brings laughter even now.

My great-grandpa arrested?

All I’m thinking’s - holy cow!

*World War II

My Sister

My sister makes me laugh a lot 

Which, in this day and age,

Is not an action in which

I do frequently engage.

When she relates a story,

Every inch of her takes part

And she cracks up all who listen 

With her curse words off the chart.

We have sixteen years between us

And about 1,000 miles,

But the times we spend together

Fill with laughter and with smiles.

First Flight

The best part was the airport ride,

An unexpected guest - 

My grandson joined his dad,

Both sacrificing needed rest.

Before the sunrise, roads were dark

And empty, but that changed

At the airport, which was busy.

(First time back - we were estranged.)

The lines were long, our pre-check failed,

Anxiety was high,

For even after T-Day

Everybody wants to fly.

I’m buckled in, the flight is full;

They’re serving drinks and snacks.

Though masks are on, I’m all prepared

For panic-stoked attacks.

The map on screen displays our path,

Reminding me of when

We used to fly more often -

I was nervous even then!

We’re Off to See…

When I was a kid, once a year on TV,

“The Wizard of Oz” would be shown.

It thrilled us and scared us, but how we enjoyed!

(Just as long as we weren’t alone.)

My parents were there when the scary witch came 

And, years later, my husband and I

Sat and watched with our kids, singing all of the songs 

We remembered from being knee-high.

Now today, here we are, watching Oz on the screen,

With our daughter and grandkids in tow,

Belting every word, reassuring in parts

That once frightened us, too, long ago.

Imported

My scarf’s from Killarney.

My car’s from Japan.

My glasses - from Denmark

(And not on my plan)!

My shoes are from China

(Which was a surprise).

My baking dish - Portugal,

Sweet for the eyes.

Today is Thanksgiving, 

America’s day.

Importing it all

Is America’s way.

Medical Procedures

Two hip replacements and a bypass

(Triple) of the heart,

A brand-new valve and, very soon,

A pacemaker will start.

 

An operation on the spine

To help unpinch a nerve;

A cataract procedure

Coming soon, but on reserve.

 

A trip to the E.R. –

A diverticulosis scare

And several months ago

There was a hernia repair.

 

So many that I know have reached

That Medicare-form stage.

That what’s to be expected,

If we’re living, as we age.

Outdoor Dining

I ate in an outdoor shed today;

The cold did not stand in my way.

I wasn’t bothered by the noise

Of traffic which, at times, annoys.

 

Construction sounds, like drills and booms

Or buses spewing noxious fumes

Could not create the slightest dent

In my good mood, nor money spent

 

On mediocre lunchtime fare;

I was so happy to be there!

My friend and I, both bundled up,

Enjoyed our time to chat and sup.

 

My first time in an outdoor shed

Since Covid reared its ugly head

Was glorious because, to me,

It felt like how things used to be.

Pillbox Hat

Jackie wore a pillbox hat

And all who watched remember that.

That image, with her rose-pink suit

Is something no one can dispute.

 

The bloodied suit, of wool boucle,

Is, in the archives, locked away,

But no one knows the whereabouts

Of Jackie’s hat, though some have doubts.

 

Her secretary and her maid

Were stubborn and could not be swayed

To say where maybe it was tossed

And so it was considered lost.

 

Most likely, it’s tucked out of sight

And in our lives won’t come to light,

Though some collector looks and sighs,

Enjoying that pink pillbox prize.

The Week Before T-Day

‘Twas the week before T-Day

And all through the house

There wasn’t much cooking

By anyone’s spouse.

 

The order from Wegman’s*

Already’s been placed

With foods that we all

Will have gladly embraced.

 

No shopping or chopping

Or simmering must

Make a mess in the kitchen;

We simply must trust

 

That the store will fulfill

All the T-Day requests

And that there’ll be enough

For the various guests.

 

Though it won’t taste like Nana’s

Or Grandma’s or Mom’s,

It’s the easy way out

So that T-Day becomes

 

Just another example of

Shortcuts we take

In our modern day lives

As traditions we break.

 

*an excellent supermarket

Two Seagulls

Two seagulls perched upon the rail

This morning, by the river.

The one with ruffled feathers

Had a message to deliver.

 

He tilted back his head and squawked,

His partner keeping quiet.

Whatever he was yelling,

It appeared she didn’t buy it.

The Future

The past is filled with all we’ve done

As well as our mistakes.

The future hasn’t yet begun

Yet we can’t up the stakes.

For every moment here on out

Can lead us off the path,

So every hope and every doubt

Is equal - do the math.

Still, each day that we leave the bed

Is like a little test.

We pass with smiles or, instead,

We struggle and we’re stressed.

When You Think You're on Mute

When you think you’re on mute

You don’t monitor speech

So you don’t know how far

Conversations may reach.

 

On a break from my class

Which is held via Zoom,

Someone talked on the phone

Privately, she’d assume.

 

But we all had to hear

How her train had been stuck,

Her annoyance conveyed

With a sprinkling of “F***!”

 

Many people do worse,

Strut around in the nude,

And I sometimes, myself,

Use some language that’s crude.

 

Still, when tech is involved,

We should all be astute

And remember, when needed,

To make ourselves mute.

Before We're Born

Before we’re born, some things are set,

Like certain traits that we will get.

Will we take risks? Will we be shy?

Be even-keeled or quickly cry?

 

Will we excel in sports or art?

Will music bloom within our heart?

Will friends come or will we be prone

To spending lots of time alone?

 

So much of how we interact

And what we love or hate, in fact,

Is predetermined to be so

Way back when we’re in utero.

The Clouds

The clouds look like they’re painted,

So still up in the sky.

My mood today is tainted;

It’s not important why.

 

The river ripples gently,

Oblivious to me.

I stare at it intently,

Though there’s not much to see.

 

The afternoon grows darker

Since our clocks moved back the time

And the leafless trees look starker,

But they’re useful in a rhyme.

Pedal-Pushers

My aunt complained, “It’s cold down here!”

(In Florida, she meant.)

The shorts she wears against the chill

Would not have made a dent.

“Put on some  pants,” I told her

But she found what’s in-between

And so her pedal-pushers,

Not Capris, have made the scene.

It’s nice to hear the lingo

From the past get a new lease.

I wonder if those pedal-pushers

Live in her valise.

Detour

Detour in the road - keep left;

An unexpected fork

Took us on a wooded journey.

We were somewhere in New York.

We likely chose the way that was

The one that was mistaken,

So here we are, an hour later,

Feeling quite forsaken.

A stream of cars ahead of us

And equally behind,

All inching on except for those

With U-turns on their mind.

A mile to go, or so it says,

Until the Thruway link.

What’s up ahead I do not know,

Afraid to even think.

Another fine example of

A nice day gone awry,

With nothing we can do

Except to shake our heads and sigh.

Highs and Lows

My day was filled with highs and lows

But isn’t that the way life goes?

The joys show up and then the woes;

That’s what’s to be expected.

 

So smiles are followed fast by frowns;

We alternate the ups and downs,

With neon moods that switch to browns

And leave us quite dejected.

 

Of course, our focus, if we’re cool,

Should be the highs, which give us fuel

To plow ahead and overrule

All negatives detected.

A Bird of Prey

A bird of prey just made my day.

He perched up high, just sitting.

He looked quite regal, so the height

Was absolutely fitting.

I watched him shake his head a bit,

Perhaps to clear his vision

Of raindrops sneaking through the leaves,

To guarantee precision.

For on the hunt, those eyes detect

The slightest move or quiver,

Allowing an attack with talons

Ready to deliver.

The hawk or falcon (don’t know which)

Remained in place a while,

Then flapped its wings and swooped away

In classic hunting style.

My Loss

The hours slipped away today

And then before I knew it,

It got too late to go outside;

I guess I really blew it.

 

The benches by the river

Didn’t have my butt to warm them.

The ferries and the pigeons

Had nobody to inform them.

 

Of course, I wasn’t missed at all;

The loss was mine completely,

For when I’m sitting riverside,

I write my poems discreetly.

Location

My home is small but cozy.

My furniture is old.

It’s all in need of sprucing up,

Or so I have been told.

 

But just a block of walking

Brings the river into view

Where benches sit there waiting –

There’s not much I’d rather do.

 

I’ve heard, when searching for a home,

Location is the key;

My apartment near the river

Is the perfect place for me.

The Pickup Truck

The pickup truck ahead of us

Had decals on the glass,

The first a flag – American –

Like many cars we pass.

 

The second, a machine gun,

At an angle, all in white,

Announcing to the world

Someone is looking for a fight.

 

I guess interpretation

May arrive at different ends

But I’m pretty sure that driver

Wouldn’t be among my friends.

By the Numbers

To reach my son, you take the Hutch*

To exit 29. 

His town is listed, bold and bright,

Right on the exit sign.

So it was quite a big surprise,

A month or so ago, 

To see that exit 18

Was the way that we should go.

The highway numbers all were changed

Without a heads-up call,

The reason why a mystery,

Our need to know quite small.

My brain’s been programmed all these years

To 29, but now

I have to cross some wires -

How I wish that I knew how!

*Hutchinson River Parkway

Watching the Marathon

One block from my apartment

Is the 18-mile mark

Where the runners pass from 10 a.m.

Until it’s way past dark.

 

I love to join the cheering throngs

Lined up along the street,

Who clap and shout support

For all those pavement-pounding feet.

 

With home-made signs held up,

Some people yell to running friends;

Then there are smiles and hugs,

Providing spirit dividends.

 

The marathoners represent

A New York hodgepodge mix

Of body types, ethnicity

And, likely, politics.

 

Yet all the runners hear the cheers

And maybe get a lift,

Thoughts of Covid far away,

Which is itself a kind of gift.

Lost Cat

A cat walked by, appearing lost.

Our paths before this never crossed.

Alone on city streets might cost

Him more than he could know.

 

He then meowed and took a chance

By rubbing up against my pants.

Then, giving me a backwards glance,

Decided he should go.

 

He quickly dashed across the street

And luckily, no cars did meet.

A couple passed and stopped to greet

Him with a big hello.

 

They petted him but didn’t stay.

I lost him as they walked away.

I hope that by the end of day,

He’s home and lying low.

A Glorious Day

I’m sitting outside in the sun.

The foliage change has begun;

So the leaves, gold and brown,

Have been fluttering down 

And the squirrels are out on the run.

Though I filled up the feeder with seed,

Local birds haven’t yet taken heed,

But the longer I sit 

One will get wind of it

And the rest will come flocking to feed.

Such a glorious day in the fall

Should be greeted and welcomed by all,

For they’re precious and few 

And we haven’t a clue

When the Reaper may give us a call.

Booster Shot

The booster shot I just acquired

Is making me overly tired

And I can’t dispute

I’ve a headache to boot,

Not the outcome that I had desired.

 

My reactions to shots 1 and 2

Were like having a mild kind of flu.

Still, this dosage was not

Like the first ones I’d got

So I thought I would simply sail through.

 

Though I’m glad my immunity’s raised

And the powers-that-be should be praised,

Hope I feel better fast

And this shot is my last

For one more and I’ll be a bit crazed.

Inside the Box

Can I picture being on a plane

Or in a car that’s rented?

Eating indoors in a restaurant,

My fears all circumvented?

 

Can I see myself discovering

My flight’s been scratched from going,

Just pacing in the airport lounge,

My panic up and growing?

 

I am stuck inside a Covid box

Despite my three injections,

Yet when I think of breaking out,

I face the same objections.

 

Perhaps I’ll never reach the point

Of feeling safe and stronger,

But ‘til that day arrives, I will

Stay put a little longer.

Old White Women

They fired all the docents 

In Chicago. This is why:

They’re mostly old white women,

Though they’re well-informed and spry.

They train for months and volunteer;

That’s right - they earn no pay,

But since they’re old white women,

They won’t be allowed to stay.

They mainly are retired

And, of course, a few are men,

But questions of diversity 

Have cropped up once again.

So someone thought it would be wise,

Despite the years they’ve spent,

To replace the demographic

That they seem to represent.

In New York, I’m a docent

And an old white woman, too.

If my museum follows suit,

There’s not much I can do.

Day of the Dead

Marilyn and Mom and Dad,

Uncle Aaron, Larry;

Helen, Irv, Frank, Jodi, Ruth,

Miriam and Harry.

 

Elaine, Barbara, Ann and May,

Muriel and Julie;

Nana, Grandma, Grandpas (2),

Rick – we miss them truly.

 

Folks and cousins of my friends,

Several former teachers;

Pets of buddies – dogs and cats

And some exotic creatures.

 

Many others in the news

Without a close connection

And all the rest who passed away –

Today’s for recollection.

 

We do not need a holiday

To think of those who’ve perished

But Día de los Muertos honors

All the dead we cherished.