Ambiguous

My dress is either black or brown;
I really am not sure.
It’s covered, too, in polka dots,
A part of its allure.

When choosing shoes and jewelry
To match, I go with brown,
A choice I reaffirm in mirrors
Or when looking down.

Yet once I noticed someone else
Who wore the dress as well.
Her shoes were black and yes, it matched,
As far as I could tell.

I’ve had this problem just this once
But what it’s clarified
Is next time I won’t buy a dress
Ambiguously dyed.

A Losing Battle

My husband tapped a scooter
And it fell down on the street.
No damage done – a doorman
Stood it back up on its “feet.”

But later on, our doorbell rang,
A policeman standing by,
Demanding information
So my husband did comply.

Seems the owner of the scooter
Learned what happened and was pissed.
Some damages (invisible)
Were done, he did insist.

He bought the cops some coffee
And a summons then was writ
For inflicting “harm” and leaving,
Thereby not reporting it.

My son says we should fight it –
It’s a bogus trumped-up charge,
But oftentimes collusion
And authority loom large.

When guilt becomes a contest
Based on what somebody said,
It’s easier to pay the fine
And suck it up instead.

On Labor Day

On Labor Day we celebrate
The workers of the world,
Quite often with a big parade
Where banners are unfurled.

But there’s another Labor Day
Which every mother’s sworn
Is more important; it’s the day
On which a baby’s born.

For labor’s a generic term
Although, for what it’s worth,
The toughest labor I have known
Is that of giving birth.

So happy Labor Day to all
No matter what your work,
Whether brand-new wailing baby
Or parade’s your well-earned perk.

Ponytail

I haven't had a ponytail
Since I was very young
And even then, most likely,
Into braids my hair was hung.

When frizz set in, I chopped my locks
And thus the die was cast,
So ponytails and pigtails were
A remnant of the past.

But when I see a jogger
With her ponytail a'bounce,
Its jaunty whipping of the air
Seems like it does announce:

Just check me out! I'm oh, so cool
And confident and fit.
So feast your jealous eyes -
I'm the epitome of IT!

Newborn Piglets

Seven newborn piglets
Clambered greedily to suck,
Six succeeding in their mission
While the runt was out of luck.

As their mother lay, exhausted,
All her babes knew what to do
Though the smallest was prevented,
By his sibs, in getting through.

We, the visitors, felt helpless
And were sounding the alarm,
But the workers weren't bothered
At the Quiet Valley Farm.

For, though "Charlotte's Web" thoughts hovered,
We hoped all would be okay
Since the farmers seemed quite trusting,
Letting Nature lead the way.

Under the Couch

Under the couch
(I can see, if I crouch)
Is a puzzle's green square.
(How'd it ever get there?)

There's a paperback book
And I'm sure, if I look,
There'll be more than just dust;
(Pegs and Legos, I trust.)

When a toddler's around
There is sure to be found
Lots of stuff 'neath the couch;
(And to this, I can vouch!)

Sidewalk Sun

With sidewalk chalk, I drew a sun
Which Henry had requested
To match the clouds and moon and stars
I'd already invested.

But, "Make a sad sun" was his wish
To balance out one smiling
And so I drew a bright blue frown,
The height of Nana-styling.

He gazed at it before he said,
"This sun does not look right.
He isn't sad - he's grumpy!"
To my absolute delight.

My artistic skills aside, you would
Need eyes just like a hawk
To distinguish sad from grumpy
On the driveway, drawn in chalk.