At the Beacon Theater

Went to a concert last night, across town,

To see an old favorite of mine, Jackson Browne.

We slogged through a downpour of thunder and rain,

Where the opening song had a “deluge” refrain.*

 

The show was amazing; the singing so fine

That years fell away with each lyrical line.

The fans were enamored; we clapped and we cheered

As our younger selves, as if by magic, appeared.

 

For more than three hours, the music fulfilled

The crowd’s expectations, with most of us thrilled.

Yet still, there was texting on cell phones a’light

From various seats, which just didn’t seem right.

 

It put a slight damper on what was, to me,

An evening as special as any could be,

For certain performers tap into the past

With a power that, over the years, seems to last.

 

*”Before the Deluge” by Jackson Browne

Reading the Fine Print

In younger days we booked a trip

And never gave a thought

To reasons we might cancel

And what refunds would be sought.

 

We rarely took insurance,

Health was not a big concern

And we never worried ‘bout the need

To suddenly return.

 

But age has made us cautious;

Carefree travel makes no sense

And by reading all the fine print,

Suddenly I’m on the fence.

 

Do we take a chance and go

Because our time is ticking fast

Or get stuck in the minutiae

‘Til the options have all passed?

How I Am With Clothes

This is how I am with clothes:

(Most won’t relate’s, what I suppose)

I purchase something that I like

(If it’s on sale, a lucky strike).

If in a store, I try it on,

Or if it comes from Amazon,

I grapple with the box or bag

To check the fit. (Return’s a drag.)

Then in my closet or a drawer,

I neatly place it, waiting for

The perfect time for me to wear it.

(Might be weeks or months - I swear it!)

Once it’s worn, it joins the crowd

With which my wardrobe’s been endowed

And rotates, as each day I see

Which outfit most appeals to me.

For years, most items I will wear,

But when they’re old or need repair,

They transfer to my country place 

Where, in my drawers, I find some space.

To do that, other things must go.

I fill a bag of items, so

I have enough to donate to

Collection boxes (which I do).

Of course, some things I have to toss

And doing so is no one’s loss,

But maybe someone I don’t know

Wears something I bought long ago.

The way I am, I know is strange,

But at this point, I’ll never change,

Although, in logic that’s reversed,

I’ll wear the clothes I least like first.

Routines

People live by their routines 

And some will never bend ‘em,

While others are more flexible,

Not minding an addendum.

Yet it presents a challenge

When those sticklers will not budge;

Instead of going with the flow,

They mire themselves in sludge.

By losing opportunities,

It seems they’re missing out,

But maybe doing what they do

Is what they’re all about.

We follow rules that work for us

And everyone’s unique,

Since what feels good for others

May not be the path we seek.

My New Old Poster

An old-time poster caught my eye 

In an antiques shop where I like to browse.

On seeing it, you might ask why,

So I’ll tell you, long as rhyme allows.

First, the colors pop and its retro look,

With a smiling man in an old-style hat,

Made me grin and that was all it took

To think, “Gee, I’d like to purchase that.”

It’s a transit ad from a dry-clean place

Where, for sixty-nine cents (don’t be shocked!),

You could bring in your hat and within that space,

It would be not just cleaned, but also blocked.

There’s a come-on, too, with a jaunty phrase:

“Perk and pep-up that old Fedora.”

Now, perhaps you will get all the many ways 

That I love it - need I say more, uh?

Between the Rivers

The Hudson River stretches wide

From Jersey to the far west side.

The east, though, is where I reside

So I don’t see it much.

It’s quite majestic, driving past

And on the highway, going fast,

I try to conjure up the past

When locals spoke in Dutch.

‘Cross town, another river flows,

Much narrower and, I suppose,

Some Germans came because that shows 

In restaurants and such.

Between the rivers, New York grew

And other cultures added to

The melting pot, which no one knew

Would suffer Ice’s clutch.

Visiting a Mansion

When visiting a mansion

That’s become a restoration,

It’s cool to see a property

That’s way above your station.

 

The verdant lawns with giant trees,

The gardens all in bloom,

The stained glass in the windows

Of each river-facing room…

 

The made-to-order furniture,

The statues and the art,

The butler’s pantry where the fancy

Dinners get their start…

 

The books in leather bindings

Lined up neatly on the shelves,

The lamps and fixtures next to chairs

Where folks relaxed themselves.

 

It’s fun to fantasize about

The life styles of the rich.

I wonder, though, how they would fare

In my house, for a switch.