Breaking Down

Our bodies, like machines, break down,
Their warranties expired,
So slowly we relinquish
Certain habits we’ve acquired.

The jog morphs into walking;
The glass of wine, a sip.
The dinners switch to “early birds”
At places not so hip.

The muscles and the joints get stiff;
We don’t move quite as fast.
A good night’s sleep is something
We remember from the past.

We visit doctors, hoping they
Can fix our aging parts
Which, with the help of meds, improve
But just in fits and starts.

Perhaps the future will include
A place that has displayed
Some younger versions of ourselves
So we can make a trade.

Dressing

With olive oil and vinegar
And spices for some zest,
My husband does his magic
And I’m always so impressed.

No bottled stuff for him
Or me and never for a guest,
His greens and veggies always pass
The oh-so-yummy test.

He’s really not conservative
But just a bit obsessed,
‘Cause a naked salad will not do –
So his is always dressed!

Pockets

In my pockets, there might be
A tissue or receipt,
A movie stub or wrapped-up candy
For a little treat.

Others may stash keys or coins,
A shopping list or gum.
Empty pockets are quite rare,
Though surely there are some.

Jacket pockets fill with gloves
Or even mittens, maybe,
And kangaroo moms’ pockets
May contain a sleeping baby.

But my favorite pocket use,
When circumstance demands,
Is as a place in which to plunge
My cold or nervous hands.

End of the Olympics

They say that viewership was down
But everyone I know
Watched some of the Olympics
And enjoyed the athletes’ show.

From the skiing, skating, hockey,
Curling, skeleton and luge,
The effort was amazing
And the jumps were simply huge.

To all those who won the medals
And the ones who didn’t place,
I applaud you for your discipline,
Your style and your grace.

From my couch, as you competed,
I sat riveted each night
In amazement as you battled
And the fans roared in delight.

Now it’s back to “Law and Order,”
The “Chicago” shows and such.
I will miss my evening viewing
Of the athletes very much.

Pistol Packing Pedagogue

When you walk into my classroom
Man, you'd better be prepared.
If your poodle ate your homework,
You might be a little scared.

'Cause I'm a pistol packing pedagogue.
My Colt is on my hip 
And my trigger finger's itchy
So it's time to get a grip.

Better not be disrespectful 
And forget it if you cheat.
No one messes with my lessons
'Cause I pack a little heat.

Yes, I'm a pistol packing pedagogue.
But do not be alarmed.
See they're paying me a bonus
If, inside my class, I'm armed.

It's a crazy world we live in
But I thank the NRA
And our president, for making me
What I've become today.

That's a pistol packing pedagogue.
You shouldn't be too shocked 
For at least my gun, like this idea,
Is less than halfway cocked!

Worming

Walking on a rain-drenched street,
Right against the sidewalk berms,
Glancing down beside our feet
We spotted many slimy worms.

A few were flattened, squished and still
But some were slowly squirming.
What a treat that fills the bill
With grandkids, to go worming!

I would highly recommend,
When it's damp and cloudy,
Taking time so you can spend
Some minutes to say howdy

To those weird and wiggly guys
That slither out from under,
Filling us (in every size)
With just a little wonder.

My Trusty Coat

My trusty coat is ages old.
For years, it’s kept me from the cold
But time is sometimes cruel, I find,
And to my coat, it’s not been kind.

The shoulder pads look out of style
(That’s been the case for quite a while)
And near the pocket, there’s a tear
Which I expect might make folks stare.

The lining I have had replaced
Ten years ago, so not a waste,
Yet now, alas, that’s ripping, too;
There’s nothing more that I can do.

Although this garment I do prize
It’s only worn for exercise
On morning walks with jogging pants
When no one gives a second glance.

I’ve other jackets, newer coats,
Though none would float as many boats 
As this, but now I can’t deny
The time has come to say goodbye.