Itchy

When the temperatures drop
And I’m bundled with clothes,
Then my skin starts to itch
Where the wind never goes.

It’s a winter event
And it happens each year,
So my lotions diminish
And then disappear.

I’m a cold weather fan
Though I wish I could hatch
A solution for this –
But I end up with scratch!

Starbucks

My coffee at Starbucks
(I wanted a small)
Was what they call a“short”
(As opposed to a “tall”).

I don’t like their lingo
A heck of a lot
But their coffee is good
(When it’s strong and it’s hot).

The younger crowd gets
Fancy lattes to go.
My friend and I sit
With a plain cup o’ joe.

Sparking Joy

The clutter expert made remarks,
When giving her advice,
That if no joy an item sparks,
Then ditch it – don’t think twice.

That goes for clothes or books or art
Or tchotchkes on a shelf,
For once this method gets its start,
You’ll lighten up yourself.

Although I am intrigued, this brings
A plan I can’t employ,
‘Cause I own way too many things
That aren’t sparking joy.

Still, I am more attuned to what
The expert had to say
And so, my ancient jeans (which sparketh not)
I gave away.

By the Front Door

We introduce new words to Henry
Every time we’re there.
He soaks up everything we say;
He’s focused and aware.

He knows the numbers of his house
And all the words as well
That describe the door and entry way –
The mailbox, knocker, bell.

But I’d never pointed out a sight
I remedied today –
Those two columns near the entrance –
Column B and Column A!

Shotgun!

When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.

But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.

The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.

I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.

Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!

Wrinkly

When wrinkles settle in the skin
There's not much you can do,
For even Botox rarely makes
Your skin look smooth and new.

But when your clothes or tablecloths
Get wrinkled from the dryer,
An iron helps to make them look
Like textiles to admire.

If I've a choice or wrinkly
Or not, right off the bat,
I'll tell you I like irony - 
No irony in that!

The Second Hand

With every tick, the second hand
Proceeds around the face,
A little like a heartbeat
At a slow and steady pace.

So many clocks and watches, though,
Don’t come so well-equipped
So you might never realize
If some seconds had been skipped.

There’s comfort, then, to check the time
On wall or desk or wrist
And behold the second hand a’tick
With not one second missed.

The irony, of course, is that,
What really is absurd
Is acknowledging the second hand
Is actually the third!