At the Top of the Stairs

We get there with the kids asleep,
Too early for the sun.
We have some coffee quietly,
To not wake anyone.

When Hadley wakes, my husband goes
To scoop her if she cries.
I hear her giggle with delight
From tickles he supplies.

But Henry, ever since the time
He moved into a bed,
Gets up and lifts the shades to greet
The day that lies ahead.

He flips the light switch, turns the knob
And opens up his door,
Then sits himself right by the stairs
Upon the hallway floor.

He knows on Fridays I’ll be there
But doesn’t make a sound,
Just sits and waits most patiently
Until I come around.

Of course, I listen carefully
To hear a telltale clue,
So he’s not waiting long before
We both come into view.

His face lights up and so does mine;
I scamper up the stairs.
We share a great big hug-a-mug;
Nothing else compares.

The time will come, as Henry grows,
And much to my regret,
That he will tire of this routine
Though I will not forget.

Two Trains

The railroad ride was smooth as silk
Though it was ten degrees.
The train was just a minute late –
No time to feel the freeze.

We passed through towns of snow-topped homes
While sitting warm and snug,
The ticket taker’s attitude
As friendly as a hug.

But at Grand Central, we got off
And had to make a switch
To ride the city subway;
Let’s enumerate each glitch:

The crowded platform packed with people
Cursing the delays;
The trash-strewn tracks accruing more
On which the rats will graze.

Announcements stating that all trains
Are locals, not express;
Yet finally, we cram on board
As all those bodies press.

We go one stop and then the doors
On certain cars won’t close.
We’re ordered off and stumble out –
Well, that’s the way it goes.

We grab a cab and make it home
And think of those two trains –
Whatever calm the rail provides,
The subway quickly drains.

Teaching Time

The little hand, the big hand,
The numbers all o'clock;
The way the seconds move 
With every tick and every tock.

Explaining the positions
Showing 30 on its face,
A knowledge that no digit-flashing
Timepiece can replace.

I guess it's as old-fashioned
As when teaching kids to spell,
But there's value in those lessons,
Least as far as I can tell.

Filtered

When I was a kid, we would act
With what we were taught was called tact.
If we did forget
What happened, I’d bet
Was that we would get yelled at or smacked.

But sometimes, we’d simply react
And want to blurt out what, in fact,
Was the way that we’d feel
Which would likely reveal
Thoughts that possible might get attacked.

Larry David, though, never has lacked,
On his show, what it takes to attract
Lots of negatives glares
‘Cause he gutsily dares
Those who’d challenge the truth he had yakked.

His opinions, although rarely backed,
Somehow don’t do much more than distract.
If I followed his suit,
I’d be in a dispute
And I know that for sure I’d get whacked.

You Can't Have it All

My neighbor from across the hall
Complains about the cold
Within her home; she sleeps with socks
And sweaters, we are told.

Her windows face the river
So perhaps the frigid air
From the water blows inside;
The winter causes her despair.

But on my side we face the street
And here it’s warm as toast.
We have to crack the windows
In all weather, or we’d roast.

I guess you can’t have everything.
To gain that river view,
I’d gladly pile on socks and sweaters –
Really, wouldn’t you?

Cocooned

I’ve been cocooned for three straight days
Within my warm apartment,
Accomplishing assorted things
And writing (my department!).

Though sick at first (which made me sleep),
I read and watched some cable,
Then made some photo books when I
Felt better and was able.

Some crosswords kept me occupied;
A book held my attention.
I never cleaned a closet,
Though that had been my intention.

Outside it’s freezing cold, I heard
But at my body’s urging,
I think tomorrow from my snug cocoon
I’ll be emerging. 

Cutting Short the Alphabet

Kinsey Millhone owned a single black dress
And wore it whenever she'd need it.
If you were a fan, you'd know all of her quirks,
For the alphabet books guaranteed it.

From "A is for Alibi" right up to "Y"
For "Yesterday," Kinsey did capture
The hearts of all readers, who counted the days
'Til the next book delivered its rapture.

Though Kinsey was fictional, she was entwined
With Sue Grafton, who made her seem living.
Like all her devotees, I owe Grafton thanks
For the joy that for years she's been giving.

The news just came down that Sue Grafton has died,
A loss for the world and for me,
Especially since when I catch up with "Y,"
There will be no more waiting for "Z."