The Bipolar Bear

In Central Park, a polar bear
Would swim and swim and swim;
At least twelve hours every day
Was not enough for him.

His name was Gus and at the zoo
A therapist was sought
To see if this obsession
Could perhaps become untaught.

An animal behaviorist
To Central Park was lured
And he concluded, in the end,
That Gus was merely bored.

They gave him toys and hid his food
To occupy his mind
And slowly he began to leave
His figure eights behind.

Still, tourists and New Yorkers both
All loved to visit Gus,
'Cause after all, he seemed to be
Neurotic, just like us.

But sad to say, Gus passed away;
His age was twenty-seven.
Perhaps he's doing backstrokes
Up where polar bears have heaven.

The Scoop

Ice cream purists like theirs plain
With nary a scintilla
Of nuts or chips or sprinkles
To deface their pure vanilla.

I see their point but disagree;
Additions have their place
And hunks of fruit or chocolate
I can easily embrace.

A vein of peanut butter swirl
Is something I can savor;
When it’s embedded in a scoop,
It multiplies the flavor.

Some chocolate covered almonds
Or some coconutty shreds
Embellish like a garment sewn
With sparkly silver threads.

A burst of buried cherries,
Like a pirate’s secret treasure,
When uncovered unexpectedly
Can fill one up with pleasure.

Of course, to purists, such advice
Is worthy of ignoring.
To me, a plain vanilla cone
Is needlessly quite boring!

Pseudo Jews

I’m a pseudo Jew, are you?
Well, this is how you know:
Just once a year to temple
Is how often you will go.

Your house has a mezuzah
But so rarely do you kiss it,
If someone thought to steal it,
It would take a while to miss it.

When chomping on a burger,
You can bet it’s topped with Cheddar;
A crispy piece of bacon (treyf!)
Would make it even better.

On Chanukah you light the lights
And sing the dreidel song,
But only to the prayer’s first verse
Can you recite along.

Of course, you have a Seder,
Though you keep it nice and brief,
With Manischewitz Concord Grape
To prove your true belief.

On Rosh Hashanah, you will buy
A challah, soft and round,
And honey cake and brisket
Served with kasha in a mound.

You fast on Yom Kippur and yes,
You’ve thrown your sins away.
Perhaps you may reflect on this,
But likely you won’t pray.

The world is filled with pseudo Jews
But still, we are sincere
In wishing every Jew around
A happy, safe New Year!

Talking to the Air

People talking to themselves
When strolling down the street
At one time were the type of folks
You wouldn’t want to meet.

But ear buds linked to cell phones
Have upended that routine,
For everybody walks and talks
To listeners unseen.

So nowadays, when someone
Is conversing as he struts,
You can’t distinguish who is sane
From one who’s likely nuts.

Tennis Whites

There was a time when tennis players
Had to dress in white.
Appearing on the court in colors
Wouldn’t have been right.

But rules have changed and now we see
A medley of attire.
In fact, to be a fashion plate
Some players do aspire.

Both men and women choose to wear
Ensembles bright and bold.
A few stroll out in outfits
Rather shocking to behold.

Though some may yearn for former times
When whites were de rigueur,
To me, the freedom from those rules
Improves the court’s décor.

Up to Snuff

Everything can feel so tough
When someone isn’t up to snuff.
Your best may not be good enough
Although you try and try.

What often happens off the cuff,
As simple as a powder puff,
May suddenly seem raw and rough,
A truth you can’t deny.

So if you’re acting grim and gruff
Because you lack your normal stuff,
You just might not be up to snuff
And that’s the reason why.

Roadside Warning

A sign on the side of the highway
Provoked my eyes to pop,
‘Cause what it said was “Prison near,
So kindly do not stop.”

Of course, we kept on driving
But man, it made me think
And wonder just how many men
Have bolted from the clink.

Envision those escapees,
In their old-time stripy suits,
Just lurking on the roadside
With the warden in cahoots.

For if inmates, as intended,
Are locked up in cells with bars,
Then why post a dire warning
To the hordes of passing cars?

It’s a puzzle so perplexing
Who knows what it’s all about,
But I’m sure all drivers question
How the prisoners got out.