The Poetry Marathon

Father’s Day Brunch

Lovely French brunch

on the patio in The City.

Strange but good feeling

between my shoulders.

Relaxation.

Followed by overwhelming sadness.

If I relax, I’ll cry.

The whole world must feel this way.

I’m not a crier. Often can’t cry.

Thought about this beautiful city, its culture,

destruction from rising sea levels.

Felt I could cry into my Croque Madame,

never stop, tears rushing in a torrent

over to Columbus Circle,

washing its statue

along with Trump Tower

from their moorings

like the coming deluge

from rising oceans.

Train Station

Much activity.

Many people.

Slice of humanity,

all going somewhere.

Two police people, leaning,

talk about retirement.

Patient, competent, nice-braids woman

works the information desk.

Old marble floor and tiles.

Continuous renovations to make travel more pleasant.

Announcements Guy, graduate of Garblefield Academy says,

Attention all passen…grubsch to the blashedep on gromublunden…

Must know stuff in a train station.

Regular riders already know stuff,

faces revealing worry about work and kids,

not their track location.

Must wait to know stuff.

Don’t tell you where you’re going

until right before you need to be there.

Adds to the excitement.

Stop. Take a breath.

Hope it’s not full of COVID.

Digital Sue

Digital Sue,

Digital Sue.

I can use my phone

better than you.

Make reservations,

buy tickets, too.

Digital Sue,

Digital Sue.

Silly old woman,

what did you do?

Froze the computer?

It was brand new!

Digital Sue,

Digital Sue.

Analogue thinking

makes the kids blue.

Old folks get lost

in the digital stew.

Mother Ocean

I visit Mother Ocean,

one of her children,

created from her salty water.

Leave windows open at night

to hear her whispers.

Whoosh…Whoosh…

Wish you understood…We are the same.

Admire her glistening smile

as she playfully laps at us,

lying like sea lions

basking on rocks she ground

with her fearsome churning.

We expect her gifts,

disrespect her parenting,

abuse her riches.

Perhaps she gleams,

knowing she will soon

reclaim the coast, the cities,

for others capable of more respect.

Losing Life

Too many elegies lately.

Tired of writing short,

poetic summaries of

long, lost lives.

We’ve all lost life

without death,

lost living to

save our lives.

Easy to lose life every day,

lose awareness,

lose touch,

lose feeling,

lose Rights.

Time to write about the living.

Shadow of the Tower

In the shadow of the Tower

just beyond the Circle,

practicing Tai Chi in Central Park

as Bennie, Zoe, Liz, Adams,

broadcast tales of criminal corruption.

Empty wine bottle on nearby bench

proclaims last night’s comradery,

debauchery while other creatures slumber.

Brazen little brown mouse

scampers between our feet

asking for some reciprocity,

some quid pro quo.

“How about I don’t crawl up your leg,

you drop me some food.”

We play in Central Park,

home to mobster mice,

guarded by monuments to evil men.

The Urgency of Age

Ironic that we slow down

when there’s so much more to do.

Nightmares of running and running,

but never reaching the destination.

Fear of dying before

the camel ride to Uluru.

Signs over New Zealand and Australia say,

“Closed for COVID. Try back next year.”

Worry that those French Chateaux,

older than I, will not wait.

We’ll miss sharing that superb bottle of wine,

cellared for a special occasion.

Years are precious.

Patience wears thin

between holidays and visits with family.

So Entitled

I deserve to travel,

frequently enjoy dining in restaurants,

delight in shopping for my own groceries.

Almost never get stopped by police

or have my authority questioned.

Always have access to cable and internet,

wear a becoming hair style

and comfortable clothes,

drive a reliable car,

have money in the bank,

a good supply of toilet paper, and

get medical care when I need it.

I adore concerts and

gatherings with good friends.

What entitles you to

run around outside unvaccinated,

spread misinformation,

place others in danger,

and encroach on my entitlements?

Old Lady January Birthdays

Generally cold,

it often snows.

Now that I’m old,

my grey hair shows.

When skin was tight,

we’d all drink liquor

and party all night.

Now parties end quicker.

We’d drink too much

and then regret it.

Now we’re out of touch,

so let’s forget it.