Melting Slush

This morning’s slush is melting

From last night’s dust of snow

Which, since it wasn’t pelting,

Left little trace, although…

 

Some little mounds keep clinging

To surfaces of grass,

Enough for snowball flinging

Before the urge might pass.

 

This weather’s awfully fickle –

It almost feels like spring,

But it’s more like a tickle,

Awaiting winter’s zing.

 

Still, I’m out by the river,

Just soaking up the sun

Which the heavens did deliver

To get all the melting done.

Tariffs

For your Super Bowl party,

When buying your chips,

Cross off guacamole

As one of your dips.

 

For most avocados

Are farmed way down south

And travel from Mexico

Straight to your mouth.

 

The same will apply to

Tequila and beer,

Since tariffs raise prices,

Or that’s what I hear.

 

So Mexican products,

Canadian, too,

Will get more expensive

For me and for you.

 

Though prices of eggs

Have been causing a shock,

Just wait ‘til folks find

It’s the same with their guac!

X-Marks-the-Spot

X-Marks-the-Spot is a tickling game

Which is traced upon someone’s bare back.

In childhood, we played it and often it caused

A goose-bump filled giggling attack.

 

My kids got the treatment when bathtime arrived

And my grandson when he was a tot,

But it’s been a while since I’ve gotten the chance

To engage in some X-Marks-the-Spot.

 

Yet I came upon Henry, eleven years old,

In the process of donning his tee

And the canvas was waiting for X-Marks-the Spot,

Just the cue for a tickle from me.

 

“I remember this, Nana!” he said as he smiled.

“Can you write down the words?” which I did,

Just delighted to think such a game’s been preserved

From my long-ago time as a kid.

Double Lives

We all live double lives; the first 

Is what appears outside,

The way the world perceives us

As opposed to what we hide.

That outward part is what we wear

And say and how we act.

We’re judged by all our positives 

Or qualities we’ve lacked.

Our other life, though, is what flows 

Through arteries and veins

Plus, more important, what resides 

Inside our hearts and brains.

This second part may differ from

Its other half or not

And we may choose to share a little

Or, perhaps, a lot.

Relationships are based upon

The way we seem to be,

Yet just below the surface is

What others cannot see.

The Delacorte

For years we’ve gone to see the shows

Of Shakespeare in the Park,

Where magic happens in Manhattan

When the sky turns dark.

 

The theater where the plays are held

Is called the Delacorte,

Reopening this summer,

I am happy to report.

 

A renovation closed it down

But now it’s back for good

And boasts a new façade that’s made

From water tower wood.

 

“Twelfth Night” will start the season

With a most impressive cast,

An experience for those who go

That will be unsurpassed.

School Holidays

Today starts the Year of the Snake.

My grandkids were given a break

For schools were all closed

Since someone proposed

That to open would be a mistake.

 

Different holidays now get observed

(I’m not saying that they’re undeserved)

Yet for years there were few,

Just the ones we all knew,

And traditions were always preserved.

 

Varied cultures are claiming their due,

Though I’d bet not all schools share that view.

If there were a debate

On this topic, by state,

Change would happen in those that are blue.

Tuning Out

I tune out the news

Just as much as I can,

So I won’t have to hear

When the s*^# hits the fan.

 

But I still read the paper

And catch little bits

From the radio as every

Story transmits.

 

The migrants, the pardons,

The Congress, the Court –

Democracy fighting

But coming up short.

 

The voters who quoted

The prices of eggs,

Now twice as expensive,

The question now begs…

 

Just when will you realize

You’ve made a mistake?

The heart and the soul

Of our nation’s at stake.

 

It’s hard to accept

Just how low we have sunk

And I wonder why everyone’s

Not in a funk.

I tune out the news

Just as much as I can,

So I won’t have to hear

When the s*^# hits the fan.

 

But I still read the paper

And catch little bits

From the radio as every

Story transmits.

 

The migrants, the pardons,

The Congress, the Court –

Democracy fighting

But coming up short.

 

The voters who quoted

The prices of eggs,

Now twice as expensive,

The question now begs…

 

Just when will you realize

You’ve made a mistake?

The heart and the soul

Of our nation’s at stake.

 

It’s hard to accept

Just how low we have sunk

And I wonder why everyone’s

Not in a funk.