Night Watch

Since the year fourteen five,

In a little Swiss town,*

There’s a job that will earn

All who do it renown.

 

From the top of the church

(A cathedral, no less)

Someone calls out the time

In a formal address.

 

Once an hour, this guard,

Called a “night watch” will yell

Just as soon as the sound

Fades away from the bell.

 

With a lantern held high

He will scour the land

Making sure that no fire

Or crime is at hand.

 

This employment has been,

Since the year it began,

Meant for all who applied,

Meaning any loud man.

 

But a change has occurred

And, ignoring the past,

Now a woman’s been named

As the “night watch” at last.

 

Up the one hundred fifty-three

Steps she will climb

Where she’ll do what she can

To make up for lost time.

 

*Lausanne

Rafa!

There were no thoughts of Covid

Or of sadness or of snow

But it wasn’t as relaxing

As most Sunday mornings go.

 

For I watched the Aussie Open

And the finals had my fave

Who provided the escape route

From reality I crave.

 

From a near-elimination

To a 5-set 5-hour match,

Rafa* fought against the odds

With every point he’d somehow snatch.

 

His opponent, 10 years younger

And 5 inches more in height,

Played as hard as he was able

But it wouldn’t be his night.

 

All the crowd was there for Rafa

And he made his fans so proud.

Even with the stress of watching,

It’s a pleasure to be wowed.

 

*Rafael Nadal

The Snow

The snow falls down softly to start;

A peacefulness it does impart

And all through the night

A blanket of white

Keeps its pace like the beat of a heart.

 

By morning, the plows have come through,

Making paths with their salt and sand crew

But the bushes and cars

Still retain reservoirs

Of the fresh-fallen snowflakes on view.

 

Hours later, in snow boots with treads,

Come the parents and kids with their sleds,

Heading into the cold;

Such a joy to behold

From the warmth of our couches or beds.

Half the World

The snow is waiting in the clouds;

The day is raw and bleak

While in Australia, there are crowds

In sunshine, all this week.

 

I bundle up when I go out,

The coming storm a threat,

Yet tennis players run about

In Melbourne, dripping sweat.

 

It’s strange the way the earth revolves

And how the seasons flip.

In half the world, the ice dissolves;

The rest’s in winter’s grip.

Maus Trap

It’s Holocaust Remembrance Day

Yet some in Tennessee

Decided their curriculum,

As is, just could not be.

A book Art Spiegelman did write,

A graphic novel, too,

Described the way his parents lived,

As Jews, in World War II.

The Nazis are portrayed as cats;

The prisoners are mice

And it depicts how those in camps

All paid an awful price.

The school board said their eighth-grade class

Should not be left to read

A book with nudity (of mice!)

And swear words - no, indeed!

The novel’s won a Pulitzer 

But ignorance must rule,

Preventing history from being

Taught today in school.

Return to Sender

Someone moved into my building

Whose last name’s the same as my own.

We haven’t yet met

But I can’t forget;

The reminders won’t leave me alone.

 

With 160 apartments,

Some order, of course, must prevail

So it no longer shocks

When I look in my box

Every day to discover her mail!

Holding Back

Sometimes people tick you off

But do you then attack?

Likely not, for most of us

Are trained in holding back.

 

Saying what you really think

In every circumstance

Would be like stomping someone’s feet

When you are asked to dance.

 

Instead, we tiptoe ‘round the truth

Or else don’t say a thing

For honesty is better off,

At times, to not take wing.

 

It might be very freeing

To express the way we feel

But most of us are too afraid

Of what that might reveal.

 

*Inspired by the Netflix show “After Life”

Movie Snacks

When I was a kid at the movies

With money to purchase a snack,

I wouldn’t buy popcorn or bonbons

Or Bonomo’s taffy to crack.

 

My favorites were strange, I admit it

And ones that I’d never now buy.

The first, root beer barrels, were tasty

And gave me a soda-like high.

 

The other was Chuckle-like chewies

But all of one flavor, in green,

Called spearmint leaves, dusted with sugar

And part of my movie routine.

 

They’re both still around (Yes, I Googled)

But neither’s retained its appeal

Though back then, as a kid at the theater,

They brought joy during many a reel.

Shortening

So often when I write a poem

And wait for a critique,

My husband, who’s my audience,

Believes it needs a tweak.

 

That last verse isn’t needed –

It’s a summary, you know.

Of course I do, but that way

It’s tied up, complete with bow.

 

I read the piece again, his way,

And often, he’s correct.

A shorter version would provide

The ending you’d expect.

 

But there are times I disagree

And keep the extra verse,

Which I think makes it better

(Though my husband thinks it’s worse).

Wearing Earrings

Every day, when I get dressed,

No matter how I’m feeling,

I choose the clothes that, comfort-wise,

I find the most appealing.

 

I may not see another soul,

(My husband, though, excluded)

Yet for my day to rock and roll,

I would be quite deluded…

 

If nothing dangled near my face,

For earrings are required

And every morning I embrace

A pair that I’ve acquired.

 

Some favorites tend to reappear

But since I have so many,

You’d never glance at either ear

To find me without any.

 

My husband wonders why do I

Insist on this tradition.

My answer, given with a sigh,

Might spark some recognition.

 

It cheers me up to add a bit

Of charm to my reflection;

Those earrings also benefit,

Diverting close inspection.

Commercial Time

Underwear to hold your leaks,

Meds with crazy names - 

These are products touted 

As I watch the Aussie games.

Homeowners’ insurance,

Make-up, cool expensive cars

Advertised between the sets

Of vaccinated stars.

Scenes of lovely Melbourne

By commercial crews they’ve hired

Hoping that some tourists

Will be well-enough inspired.

Since I can’t fast-forward,

Every ad I’m forced to see,

Although the target audience

Is certainly not me.

Unreal Estate

The special section in The Times,

Intended for the rich,

Showed real estate available

If homes you’d like to switch.

 

You need a fitness room or pool?

A chamber for the maid?

Six bathrooms and a terrace

Showing Central Park displayed?

 

Imported marble in the baths?

A cellar for your wine?

The latest in technology

And elegant design?

 

I don’t require all that stuff;

There’s nothing I am missin’

Especially compared to those

Without a pot to piss in.

What We've Got

We might all like a break

From the lives that we lead

But that change may not be

What we want or we need.

 

For there’s comfort as well

In the same old routine

And we may not be thrilled

With an alternate scene.

 

We can plan, we can hope,

We can wish, we can dream

Yet the future may not

Give us peaches and cream.

 

There are times that it’s best

To enjoy what we’ve got

Since to know what comes next

We most surely cannot.

Waiting for Delivery

Ordered some books for my grandson

On the Friday that recently passed,

Expecting a next-day delivery

Since Amazon gets things done fast.

 

Got a notice the order was processed,

Then a follow-up it would be late,

So instead of the 15^th arrival,

I was given a different date.

 

Told my son to remain on the lookout

For by Sunday or Monday it should

Be deposited on their front doorstep

But I started to doubt if it would.

 

By this morning, when checking the order,

It said, “Sorry, your books may be lost.

Please reorder or ask for a refund.”

Somehow somebody’s signals got crossed.

 

I will try once again but I realized

Just how spoiled I’ve gotten to be,

Yet I hope my grandson’s disappointment

Is with Amazon rather than me!

Three Balls

In tennis, when a player serves

He gets a second chance

In case the ball goes out of bounds

Set in the court’s expanse.

 

Before his first serve, he must have

A second ball at hand,

Kept in a pocket so he can

Produce it on demand.

 

As he walks toward the server’s box

The ball boy sends his way

Three tennis balls, one at a time;

He needs just two to play.

 

The player holds all three and then

The bounces one ball back.

The ball boy scoops it up and then

The game is back on track.

 

I always wonder how the player

Knows which two to use

For it should make no difference

In the game which ones he’d choose.

 

And yet this ritual repeats

Each time a player serves.

If I worked as a ball boy

It would sure get on my nerves.

My Schmatta

Many years ago, my aunt,

Who’s always loved to knit,

Made a shawl for me with fringes –

Not my color, I’ll admit.

 

Yet it’s toasty warm and large enough

To drape around and stay

Without the need to hold it up;

I wear it every day.

 

A schmatta means a rag

Or else a garment that is old

But there is much affection

For this shawl that I’ve extolled.

 

See, my aunt’s made me replacements

In the colors I prefer

But they’re rarely worn because

To my dear schmatta I defer.

Novak

Djokovic, the reigning champ’s

In Melbourne, set to play

If the Australian government

Decides that it’s okay.

 

In seeking an exemption

Since he’s not had the vaccine,

He’s earned the wrath of many

Who’ve been forced to quarantine.

 

To me, it’s very obvious

That stringent rules are set

For everyone to follow;

Those who don’t may pose a threat.

 

So send him back; he’s made a choice,

The consequences clear.

Perhaps Novaxx (as he’s been called)

Will wise up by next year.

A’Whipping

Wind’s a’whipping;

Branches thrashing.

Chairs are flipping;

Teeth are gnashing.

Garbage flying;

Scarves wrapped double.

Those home sighing, 

Sweats and stubble.

Wind chill saying

It’s much colder.

Those out paying,

Being bolder.

In My Linen Closet

In my linen closet

There are sheets that go way back.

In going through them, I have made

A quite imposing stack:

 

The brown and orange flowered ones

Of hippie-ish décor;

My husband’s, used to cover

His old mattress on the floor.

 

Our first set as a couple,

With bamboo boughs, colored peach

And all the rest on shelves I need

A ladder just to reach.

 

My kids’ twin-sized cartoony ones

Or those with baseball themes;

The extra-long sheets for the dorm

Which held some college dreams.

 

It’s finally time to winnow down

All those we haven’t used

In many years and which to ditch

I’ve up ‘til now refused.

 

I’d heard the ASPCA

Accepts old sheets and such

So they will find another home –

I will not miss them much.

 

Yet still, I’m sad to see them go

But I won’t be too vexed

Because I’ll have to face the fact

The towels will be next!

Bearly Believable

A woman in Alaska,

With her brother on a hike,

Never dreamed that on a bathroom break

Unpleasantness would strike.

 

She sat down on the toilet

In an outhouse near a yurt

When she felt like something bit her

And she screamed because it hurt.

 

Her brother raced inside to see

Perhaps a squirrel there

But a glance into the bowl revealed

None other than a bear!

 

The wounds were superficial

But be warned before you strut

Into an Alaskan outhouse

Or a bear could bite your butt!

To the Thief Who Stole My Grandpa's Ring

I wonder why you stole it –

As a trade-in for some food?

To pay a debt or maybe just

‘Cause you were in the mood?

 

Perhaps you simply liked the style –

A squarish flat red stone

Set into gold, quite possibly

The nicest thing you’d own.

 

My grandpa made it easy –

In the hospital, in bed.

Was he still breathing when you took it

Or already dead?

 

As a kid, I liked to touch it,

Feel the smoothness of the gem.

My brothers liked it, too –

It should be worn by one of them.

 

But no, you had to have it

For the family, wracked by grief,

Didn’t think about the chance

Of being ripped off by a thief.

*This happened over 50 years ago, but I never

knew about it or had forgotten it. My brother

recently reminded me of the story. A diamond

lapel pin was also taken at the same time.

Slippery Paths

The days are getting longer;

The sun is slow to set.

Frustration’s getting stronger

That this isn’t over yet.

 

The optimists are quoting

Outlooks for a better spring

But the pessimists are noting

That we don’t know anything.

 

The winter’s far from over;

There’ll be frigid days ahead.

Before we’re all in clover

There’ll be slippery paths to tread.

Day of the Week

I often must take a quick peek

To make sure of the day of the week

For the days seem to blend

And I cannot depend

On my brain for the answer I seek.

 

Since most travel and visits have ceased

Time at home and nearby has increased

So the hours I spend

On activities tend

To slip by like they’ve somehow been greased.

 

Thus, a Saturday might as well be

Either Tuesday or Wednesday to me

But a glance at my phone

Where the day’s always shown

Sets me straight to a certain degree. 

How-To

I overheard the class on Zoom –

The first grade wrote “How-To’s.”

The teacher told them any topic

Could be theirs to choose.

 

My fav was “Making Ice Cream.”

The “How-To” is here, complete:

“Put some ice cream in a bowl, add sprinkles,

Then begin to eat.”

 

Another, “Making Pancakes”

Made me laugh a bit again:

“Put pancakes in the microwave

For 40 seconds, then…

 

Put on your plate and then you add

Some syrup on the top.”

I guess that making things from scratch

Has somehow seemed to stop.

Feeder in the Snow

Filled the feeder in the snow

Because, of all the weathers, 

This one makes the search for food

Quite tough for those with feathers.

Had to chase some squirrels -

Let them eat the nuts they’ve hoarded -

But then the birds began to come

And wow, was I rewarded!

Chickadees and sparrows,

Blue jays and a mourning dove,

Then a Woody Woodpecker,

A species that I love.

Flocks of little black birds 

That prefer to peck the ground,

Crows above on branches 

Where good resting spots are found.

Set against the blanket

Of the freshly fallen snow,

I’m happy as I watch the birds 

Who know just where to go.

January Sixth

A year ago today we watched

A shocking insurrection

As crowds attacked the Capitol

To challenge the election.

 

To mark the date, the President

This morning gave a speech

Reminding all Americans

Whose lies propelled that breach.

 

The words he used left little doubt

Of who deserves the blame

Although he never uttered once

His predecessor’s name.

 

The saddest thing to me is that

America’s divide

Remains as strong today, as hatred

Simply won’t subside.

No Bones About It

My bones are old, so I’ve been told;

It’s osteoporosis.

Accepting that if I go splat

I’m done – that’s the prognosis.

 

So when it’s cold, I’m not so bold

To walk if streets are icy.

One little slip may crack my hip;

To chance it might be dicey.

 

And so today, I had to weigh

Conditions ‘fore my journey

Or I’d go whoosh, land on my tush

And end up on a gurney.

 

My normal route I was astute

Enough to see could trip me

So I took stock and ‘round the block

I walked and I was slip-free.

 

When I was young, I must have clung

To thoughts of never aging

But now, alas, I watch my ass

And every step I’m gauging.

Ruth and Dave's

There was a store in Brooklyn selling

Food we’d often crave.

The owners were a couple

Known to all as Ruth and Dave.

 

On weekends I was sent there

Walking just a few short blocks

To buy bagels, cream cheese, whitefish

And some thin-sliced salty lox.

 

At times there was baked salmon

And if my mom had the urge,

On chocolate-covered jells

And graham crackers we would splurge.

 

It wasn’t every week we’d get

Those yummy foods to eat.

We knew a trip to Ruth and Dave’s

Was for a special treat.

 

So many years have passed I’m sure

That Ruth and Dave are dead,

But I can see them smiling,

She with braids piled on her head.