In France, a woman’s right to choose
Is
guaranteed by law,
A
freedom one will never lose
And
no one can withdraw.
The
message rings out loud and clear:
Our
bodies are our own.
No
courts or judge can interfere;
The
choice is ours alone.
The
Constitution plainly states,
Unlike
the U.S.A.’s,
That
there will be no more debates
Or
government delays.
Unfortunately,
here at home,
We
haven’t won this fight
And
it will take more than a poem
Or
march to make things right.
We never know when life will end
And
so each day we just pretend
That
we have all the time to spend
On
all that we envision.
The
trips someone would recommend,
The
get-togethers with a friend,
The
shows and games we should attend -
We
plan them with precision.
Yet
circumstances often bend
And
goals or travels we’d intend
To
take, we somehow comprehend
Will
bow to indecision.
Our
years on earth, though, won’t extend.
There
is no magic dividend
And,
like this poem that I have penned,
There’ll
be no great revision.
When people said that Ruth should go,
I
argued they were wrong.
Today,
of course, we sadly know
She
stuck around too long.
Unfortunately,
now it seems
We’re
destined to repeat
Mistakes
to ruin all our dreams
And
knock us off our feet.
Dear
Jill, your husband’s done his best
To
bring this country back,
But
nothing seems to have suppressed
Each
worrying attack.
No
matter if he has the strength
And
gumption to go on,
Opponents
will seek any length
To
guarantee he’s gone.
Perception’s
power overrules
Reality,
and so,
Before
democracy unspools,
Let’s
save the status quo.
Your
influence is needed now
For
Joe must step aside
And
such a move might just allow
The
cause to stem the tide.
From 4 – 5 in Central Park,
Beneath
his favorite tree,
So
many fans of Flaco* gathered –
Yes,
including me.
Around
the trunk were letters,
Poems
and pictures and bouquets
From
all of us who knew how Flaco
Brightened
up our days.
Some
people never saw him
But
still followed all the writings,
Plus
the videos and pictures
That
accompanied the sightings.
I
left my poems in tribute,
Heard
the speeches and the songs
And
await the hoped-for statue
In
the place where it belongs.
*a
male Eurasian eagle-owl who
escaped
from the Central Park Zoo
and
survived for a year in the city
For years I’ve seen a pair of ducks
In
front of a fountain close by.
They
swim or sit and those who notice
Likely
wonder why.
The
fount’s in the front of a building;
Pedestrians
pass night and day
And
the street’s filled with traffic and noises,
Which
you’d think would just scare them away.
In
addition, this year there’s construction,
With
drilling and scaffolds and nets.
For
some ducks maybe raising a family,
It’s
as stressful as city life gets.
Yet
this morning, my duck friends were waiting,
As
indifferent as creatures can be.
Their
return was, to them, nothing special,
But
it sure brought some smiles to me.
I’ve never heard a podcast,
Which
reveals that I am old.
I
don’t know how to stream one
(And
don’t want to, truth be told).
I’ve
never paid with Venmo
And
the same applies to Zelle.
My
credit cards and checks or cash
Have
served me very well.
My
doorbell has no camera
And
my house has no alarm
And
so far, lacking both,
I
haven’t come to any harm.
If
you stop by for some coffee,
You
must wait until it perks
Since
I’m happily old-fashioned,
For
the tried and true still works.
My husband had his tooth pulled;
It was number 17.
With pain involved, extracting it
Was easily foreseen.
Our grandson pointed out he missed
By just a single date,
Tooth Fairy Day (the 28th),
But it’s up for debate…
If he would rate a visit
Since our granddaughter was sure
The fairy comes for baby teeth;
The rest have no allure.
In any case, the tooth is out;
The pain will not persist
And we found out tooth 17
Won’t even be much missed.
