A New York Take

The Yankees lost - I’ll take my lumps.

Just make the next loss - please! - be Trump’s!

The Opening Bars

You know how certain songs can grab you

Once some notes are played?

Your ears perk up, you start to smile -

Attention must be paid!

When that occurs, your mind demands

You get to hear the rest

And if you can’t, you hum that tune

As if you are possessed.

This morning, someone passed me by

And from her ear buds came

Those seven most familiar notes

One musical can claim -

The opening of “Hamilton!”

And what a lovely perk

To listen to that upbeat score

While heading off to work.

The Two Halves of my Life

Today we took a lovely walk

On quiet country roads,

Where the autumn trees surround

The rural one of our abodes.

 

A hundred miles later,

We strode briskly, I should note,

From our main home, an apartment,

To the place where we could vote.

 

Now, to cast an early ballot,

We were luckily assigned

To a great New York museum,

So, of course, we then combined

 

An important civic duty

With a visit worth a view

Of a very cool exhibit,

Which we always love to do.

 

Our two living quarters equal,

Since they’re small, an average house,

Yet this singular arrangement

Works for me and for my spouse.

 

When the two halves come together,

In the ways I love the best,

I feel happy and contented,

Which, by now, you might have guessed.

A Helicopter Rescue

A helicopter rescue

Sounds traumatic, not just for 

The rescuee, since witnesses 

May suffer even more.

No matter what the circumstance,

There’s drama, which must be

Impossible to reconcile 

With one’s reality.

Yet once the patient’s lifted

And is safely in the air,

There’ll be comfort in receiving 

All the very best of care.

For companions left behind there is

So much to do until

They can make it to the hospital,

So many roles to fill.

Those with luck will make it home, although

That might just take a spell.

Still, while working on recovery,

There’s quite a tale to tell.

Record Collections

In a closet, stuffed in bags,

My records gather dust.

The player’s gone and speakers, too,

But keeping them’s a must.

My friend is giving hers away,

But on the other side,

My sister got my cousin’s batch,

Passed to her when he died.

I hear that vinyl’s coming back,

Yet those of us of age,

Remember our collections,

Adding groups we saw on stage.*

It was a thrill to hear a song

And buy a new LP,

Which way back then was how

We gained accessibility.

A needle on a record,

Careful, so it wouldn’t scratch,

Did provide a magic feeling that

No other modes can match.

*Often on The Ed Sullivan Show

Urban Scene

The toddler’s steps were tentative;

His daddy held his hands.

They slowly made some progress;

Every parent understands.

What caught my eye was on their heads -

Both sporting baseball caps,

The dad’s a well-worn Yankees one,

A favorite, perhaps.  

The toddler’s was, of course, brand new,

Though I have got to say 

It elicited a laugh because 

The logo said LA!

Precursor

My grandpa owned a laundry 

And when shirts were washed and pressed,

They were folded ‘round some cardboard

To stay neat ‘til you got dressed.

Our family shirts were treated

Just the same, except we learned

My grandpa paid a nickel

For each cardboard we returned.

This way, he used them once again

And so it seems that I’m

A descendant of a person who

Recycled ‘fore his time.

I Can’t Wait

I’m tired of reading articles

About Election Day.

There’s nothing new that anybody 

In the world can say.

Opinions, mostly set in stone,

Are not about to budge

And hopefully, November 5th,

Our ballots get to judge.

I can’t wait ‘til it’s over,

Though I’m trying hard to hope

That whichever way the wind blows,

Those who lose will somehow cope.

Water Music

I’m drowsing by the river

With the sunshine on my face

When I hear John Lennon singing,

Lyrics worthy of embrace.

 

There’s a boat out on the water

With “Imagine” playing loud

And the stars and stripes a’flutter,

Which should work with any crowd.

 

After zipping ‘round in circles,

Soon that sailor headed south

As the words to “Heaven’s Door”

Came pouring out of Dylan’s mouth.

 

I did wonder ‘bout the owner,

Since most craft make not a sound,

But at least his choice of music

Made me want another round.

In Front of My Building

They’re filming* in front of my building,

Equipment all over the place.

The crew members milling in bunches;

Huge trailers invading the space.

 

It’s cool to hear “Roll ‘em!” and “Action!”

And know that one day on TV,

The place where I live will be featured,

With actors appearing, not me.

 

It isn’t a common occurrence

So nobody minds all the fuss.

Tomorrow we neighborhood people

Will be back to routines, with just us.

 

*an episode of “And Just Like That”

With Kids in Tow

A Broadway show, with kids in tow,

Is challenging, for sure.

You must prepare for getting there,

With hassles to endure.

 

The car’s a pain, yet bus or train

May cause you some delays;

Then every street, on tired feet,

Seems like you’re in a maze.

 

And then the wait, which children hate,

When hunger hits, or thirst;

You buy some snacks, but can’t relax,

For bladders might just burst.

 

The bathroom line, with poor design,

Means that the world expects

That kids must learn to wait their turn;

We tell them, “Almost next!”

 

The dimming lights, at last, ignites

Excitement from the crowd.

The music blares and some it scares

For it is just so LOUD!

 

With luck you last, applaud the cast

And head home with a smile,

But hope your crew won’t ask that you

Repeat this for a while.

The Other Shoe

Hurricanes can happen;

Flights can get delayed.

You can never really count

On plans you might have made.

 

Viruses can catch you;

Traffic bog you down.

Roads may close when politicians

Travel to your town.

 

Never think disaster

Is a thing you can avoid,

Though to worry ‘bout it constantly

Would make you paranoid.

 

Still, when life is going smoothly

And you feel like you’re on top,

It’s realistic to expect that soon

The other shoe will drop.

To Pick a Pumpkin

To pick a pumpkin, I have found,

It’s best to choose one nice and round 

And if you are the one dispatched,

Select one with the stem attached.

The orange color of the fall

Is universal to them all,

So just be sure there’s no surprise 

In what you buy regarding size.

Then make your choice or choices and

Do with your pumpkins what you’ve planned -

For jack-o-lanterns or display

Will brighten everybody’s day.

His True

Nothing lasts forever,

But the best that we can do

Is respect the writing on the wall

And listen to our “true.”

So Rafael Nadal will soon

Retire from his sport

And all his fans are saddened

By this “It can’t be!” report.

But tennis is a young man’s game

And Rafa gave his all.

Still, injuries and aging bones

Conspired to force this call.

A quote of his, “That is my true”

Reflects what he can’t hide,

Yet I hope he knows the joy

His brilliant playing did provide.

The Usher

A Broadway play, a matinee,

Two seats right on the aisle.

The highest row, but even so,

We both left with a smile.

 

The show was sad, yet we were glad

For every great performer

Was new to us and, as a plus,

What made us feel much warmer

 

Was meeting John, a paragon

Among all theater ushers.

He made us laugh, unlike some staff

Who only act as shushers.

 

It’s kind of rare to really share

An unforeseen connection,

But our good luck relied on pluck

And also, seat selection!

22,000 Steps

“The number of steps I recorded

Was 22,000,” she said.

It sounded like miles,

Which brought me some smiles,

‘Cause I measure mileage instead.

 

They next were discussing some money.

“Just Venmo it, then we’ll be square.”

I thought – what the heck?

I’d use cash or a check,

Since of Venmo I’m quite unaware.

 

Before they walked past, I heard “DoorDash”

And knew they were ordering food.

Why not shop in a store?

That’s what markets are for –

But I guess that’s an old attitude.

 

Certain changes I know can be helpful,

Yet for others I haven’t a clue

Why the tried-and-true ways

From the old-fashioned days,

Like with miles, just simply won’t do!

Proof of Life

I get a letter every year

(First thought it was a goof)

That if I want my pension checks,

I have to send in proof

 

That I’m still breathing; if I am,

To prove it, I should mail

Two photos and a form, which I

Must forward without fail.

 

The form has basic into;

With my driver’s license scan,

It won’t be quite enough.

I’ll also need, as per their plan,

 

A picture of myself in which

I’m holding, so it’s clear,

A newspaper which shows the current

Day and month and year.

 

There must be scammers who,

From the deceased are on the take,

But a photo with The Times

Seems like an easy thing to fake.

 

Still, I sent what they requested

And I hope it will arrive

So the Board of Education knows

That I am still alive.

My Two Cents

For voters who sit on the fence,

Allow me to add my two cents.

If your rearing forbids

Nasty words by your kids,

Of one candidate there’s no defense.

 

If you’re childless, with maybe some pets,

Voting one way you’ll have no regrets,

Since when bullies are beaten

Who believe cats are eaten,

We can focus on climate and debts.

 

And for women, just think about Roe.

Let our ballots let everyone know

That when we get to choose,

Anti-female men lose

As our voting booth bodies will show.

 

This election will let us decide

If our country can cross the divide

To unite for a chance

For respect to advance

Or to mourn when democracy died.

A Challah

A challah is a braided bread -

With butter, it’s delish.

It looks impressive when it’s whole

And waiting on a dish.

But when it’s time to eat it,

Many raise a bread knife - but,

It’s so much better with a piece

Ripped from the loaf - not cut.

I always grab a hunk this way;

Its texture, so enticing,

Is pillowy and soft and doesn’t 

Taste the same with slicing.

Here’s one more tip - some bakers 

Overstep and are quite brazen,

But to me, it is a shonda*

Eating challah filled with raisin.

*a disgrace 

Growing Old

Growing old is very strange

For certain things are bound to change

And others you must rearrange

To fit the way you’re feeling.

 

Since doing things requires pep

And sometimes just that extra step

Or daily items you must schlep

No longer seems appealing.

 

It’s easier to stay in place

In home surroundings you embrace

Instead of slapping on a face

To prove how well you’re dealing.

 

Not everybody feels this way.

Some forge ahead and greet each day,

Excited for whatever may

Bring joy to reach the ceiling.

 

Yet I don’t envy those who go

From here to there or to and fro.

I look inside myself and know

There’s nothing I’m concealing.

A Plane is Soaring

A plane is soaring overhead

Against a bright blue sky.

I wonder who the people are

Who chose this day to fly?

Some relatives about to land

In time to share a meal,

On this eve before a holiday

Both somber and surreal?

Or some business folk returning home

From meetings out-of-town,

Reuniting with their families,

Looking just to settle down?

Or some tourists on a long-planned trip

To take in New York’s sights?

Or the crew and pilots, needing to

Unwind from all these flights?

I sit here in the yard, relaxed,

And gaze up in the air,

Just grateful that today I’m not 

Strapped in a seat, up there.

Getting Worse

Nothing ever stays the same

And yet, in ways diverse,

Instead of real improvement,

It seems things are getting worse.

 

Perhaps if I were younger,

Optimistic thoughts would reign

And I wouldn’t find so much

About which I can’t help complain.

 

I will not list my worries

Or the reasons I feel stressed,

So, although the future’s waiting,

I think I’ll be unimpressed.

The Hurricane

We hear about the hurricane

But we are miles away.

My family won’t evacuate -

They think they’ll be okay.

There’s nothing we can do from here

Except to sit and wait

And hope their instincts prove them right

And that they’re not too late.

So many storms are not as bad

As weathermen predict,

So maybe Mother Nature has

Got everybody tricked.

Stepping in It

When growing up, I had a dog 

And when he had to go,

He did his business in the street;

A leash tug let him know.

We didn’t have a pooper-scoop,

But we’d prevent a squat

On sidewalks where pedestrians

Might cross that very spot.

Yet nowadays, the owners let

Their dogs go where they please

And even if they clean it up,

It doesn’t quite appease.

Just yesterday, I took a step

And - take a random guess -

My sneaker sole with lots of tread

Became a stinking mess.

It took a while to get it clean 

And here I will admit

That, in my mind, that owner is

A selfish piece of *%#+!

Replace Me

Our heat and a/c units,

Which are mounted on the wall,

Have remote controls for every room,

Which workers did install.

The living room, since larger,

Has another cool device

With a touch-screen, though the room’s remote

Would certainly suffice.

Still, we were told to use the screen

Instead of the remote 

To heat or cool that space and so,

We’ve listened to that note.

A tap relays the temperature 

Or lets us then adjust

The way we want the air to flow

And it has earned our trust…

Until we found the screen gone blank.

New batteries did yield 

A simple message, loud and clear -

“Replace me,” it revealed.

Imagine all our objects

With the power to command.

It feels like science fiction’s

Somehow gained the upper hand.

Highways That I Knew

For 30 years I drove to work,

On highways that I knew.

The early morning traffic

Was so light I almost flew.

I recognized the landmarks 

That I passed each time I went,

A smooth commute to where I taught

My singular intent.

In the years since I retired,

I’d no need to take that route 

‘Til today, when GPS said

That’s the way to go, no doubt.

So, to meet some friends we traveled 

On the roads we were assigned,

Which were different from the old familiar 

Ones I had in mind.

Change is bound to be expected;

Nothing simple gets to last.

Even roads and their surroundings 

Differ from those in the past.

A New Friend

Met a new friend on a cruise;

We shared many interests and views.

She doesn’t live far –

Couple hours by car –

But connections are easy to lose.

 

Yet she’s great about keeping in touch,

Often texting with greetings and such,

Then said she’d be nearby

And would love to say hi,

Which I told her we’d like very much.

 

So we spent a few hours today

Catching up in a most pleasant way;

Walked around and had lunch,

Which made certain a hunch

That this friendship might be here to stay.

The Graveyard

The graveyard has a spooky gate,

The tombstones spaced behind,

With skeletal remains arranged

That passersby could find.

Some ghosts pop out of windows,

Where they’ll still be at dawn

And you can visit all of this

On my grandchildren’s lawn.

The Shofar from the Street

I rarely go to temple,

Though when New Year comes around,

I do not feel complete until

I hear the shofar’s sound.

 

Some synagogues stream services;

I listened for a while,

But the rabbi’s talk went on and on

And wasn’t quite my style.

 

I turned it off and went to sleep,

Yet while I calmly drowsed,

A noise disturbed my slumber

So I suddenly was roused.

 

It was a shofar from the street

And it was being blown

In the familiar rhythms

That, since, childhood, I have known.

 

My husband woke up also

To the blasts, both loud and clear,

Which, from right below our window,

Wished the world a sweet new year.

A Fresh Start

Once a year, we toss our sins

And then we start out fresh.

I do it, even though my now-

And-then beliefs don’t mesh.

 

Traditions of the holidays

Are somehow still retained

Because, I guess since childhood,

They are very much ingrained.

 

Tomorrow, using pebbles

(Breadcrumbs can work just as well),

All my sins will hit the river,

Least as far as I can tell.

Two-Thirty

I have an appointment

To have a tooth yanked.

This lists pretty high

On the fears I have ranked.

 

So, natch, I am nervous

And needed a laugh,

Which has been supplied

By my better-ish half.

 

He told me – “Relax!”

As I work on my rhyme;

“You don’t have to leave yet

For tooth-hurty’s the time!”