Biscuits and Blues*

A plate of deep-fried chicken,
Slaw and greens and ice-cold beer
Did provide the perfect harmony
For what we came to hear.

When the blues is on the menu,
Southern fare is de rigueur
And the biscuits, honey-buttered,
Only added to the lure.

While the saxophone was wailing
And guitar strings nimbly picked,
We were chowing down on vittles,
Fingers prim and proper licked.

The proprietor was clever
In the name that he did choose
For we savored every moment
Of the biscuits and the blues.

*a blues club in San Francisco

The Fillmores

The Fillmore East and Fillmore West
Had shows with bands who were the best.
Bill Graham, the Fillmore's promo man,
Was the performers' biggest fan.

They loved him, too, today I learned,
Respect which both ways was returned.
He often flew from coast to coast
To manage those he loved the most.

A near museum had a show
And I'm so glad I got to go.
With concert clips and poster art,
I traced both Fillmores from the start.

One concert ad, most likely rare,
Meant more to me 'cause I was there.
I closed my eyes and saw the stage,
The memory not dimmed with age.

The past is gone, my husband states,
And thinking back he really hates
But such exhibits, bittersweet
Though they might be, are still a treat.

The Fireworks

We didn't think we'd get to see
The fireworks at all,
The fog so thick it cast more than
Its ordinary pall.

We also didn't care to trudge
To where we'd have a view,
The sort of thing our younger selves
Would likely want to do.

And so we bought some wine and sat
Outside our hotel room
On the terrace, many stories up,
To wait for the first boom.

But suddenly, a burst appeared
To brighten up the sky
And then another, all of them
On level with my eye.

Our Chinatown location
Made July the 4th a treat
And the wine and the biscotti
Made the evening feel complete.

On the Dance Floor

We clustered on the dance floor
At the edges, though we danced.
You might have missed us if
Into the room you'd quickly glanced.

The energetic dancers
In the middle of the crowd
Jumped and boogied in stilettos
To the music pulsing loud.

Our old moves were more subdued
And, although we sang along,
We were clueless to the lyrics
Of each recent top-hit song.

While the partiers were grooving,
Beaming smiles on every face,
Some of us still did the cha-cha,
Which looked sadly out of place.

At a dear friend's daughter's wedding,
Buddies of the groom's and bride's
Danced exactly like we used to
While we watched them from the sides.

Early Morning, San Francisco

The building tops are shrouded
By a thick persistent fog.
The sun, despite his name day,
Must be sleeping like a log.

I watch the darkness lifting
Very slowly, from my perch
Twenty-seven stories higher
Than the steeple of a church.

A gull swoops by; some taxicabs
Glide slowly down the street.
The flags on poles sway side to side,
Perhaps to Sousa's beat.

It's early morning in this city
Nestled by the bay.
My view is of the buildings, though,
Varieties of gray.

The clouds hang low, so thick that you
Could cut them with a knife.
I hope the sun breaks through before
The city comes to life.

Losing Nachos

I fly JetBlue for their snacks, TV's
And lots and lots of flights.
Doritos is my favorite snack,
Providing yummy bites.

The flight attendant just revealed
That, in this airline venue,
These Nacho Cheese delights
Will soon be taken off the menu.

Though Cheez-its will replace them
(Both have Cheese within their name),
Every snacker would agree that they
Are nowhere near the same.

To the top execs of JetBlue -
Word of mouth might cause a break
For your loyal Frequent Fliers
Might just switch for your mistake.

Do not sacrifice our Nachos
Thinking it could help our health.
If we start to fly United, 
It just might affect your wealth!

Heading West

I'm heading west tomorrow
For a wedding Sunday eve
And very early is the hour
When I have to leave.

When I arrive, though, it will seem
Much later than it is
So by the evening I'll be like
A Coke without the fizz.

For bodies sometimes need some time
Before they can adjust
And crossing time zones may just leave
Our vigor in the dust.

Still, I will party 'til I may
Just crumble in a heap,
But on the red-eye coming home
You'll find me fast asleep.