The Poetry Marathon

Wrong is the New Right

If you don’t know an answer,

you can always just pretend.

Your story’s an enhancer.

They’ll believe you in the end.

If you get caught red-handed,

always best to just deny.

Though a liar you’ll be branded,

it can never hurt to try.

If you are lacking money,

just get someone else to pay.

Some folks won’t find this funny.

You’re a jerk is what they’ll say.

Battle of the Sexes

Next year,

we’re mostly gay.

Too dangerous to be straight female.

No choices.

Heterosexuality trends downward.

Safe sex is Lesbian sex.

More mass shootings

by frustrated men.

Fewer babies.

Population declines.

Human Earth Saved!

Thanks, Supreme Court.

Not My People

These are not my people.

But I want them to adopt me,

alien child dropped into the

Fundamentalist Christian Wild West.

Glitch. Mistake.

I instinctively knew about

ethnicities other than Indians and White people.

Bread that’s hard to roll into a ball,

other than corn bread.

That thinking differently, if at all,

could be a good thing.

These people tolerate differences,

don’t need more than three guns,

show awareness of climate change,

won’t bully children for intellectual endeavors.

Wrap me in your East Coast Liberal arms.

Sign the adoption papers.

Minor League Baseball

Baseball is a kid’s game.

Ferry Hawks vs. Blue Crabs.

Laughed hysterically

under our broken umbrella

during long rain delay,

Ballpark with view of the Manhattan skyline.

Herds of children chased balls through the stands.

Uninhibited grown-ups danced to bad disco.

Silly fans sang horribly.

Goofy bat race guys spun around, fell down.

Awkward Kiss Cams.

Pizza won a race because

another food got tackled by the batboy,

who danced like a very white

Napoleon Dynamite between innings.

Kids must have invented baseball.

Apology to the Tree People

Sorry.

Took you for granted.

Enjoyed your shade, birds,

green in spring, splendid colors in fall.

Learned about your xylem and phloem,

photosynthesis and reverse Krebs Cycle.

Didn’t think to get to know you.

Your lifestyles, cultures,

preferences, parenting styles.

Didn’t even bother to learn your names:

Aspen, Cherry, Ash, Fir,

Oak, Maple, Cedar.

I’m old now, trying to learn.

Humans are slow, but not as slow as trees.

Steinway

Magnificent building!

Such art overshadows, outlives

men’s foolish passing notions.

Steinway chiseled in stone

above the archway enclosing mythological figures.

Above, a gilded balcony

decorated with four stone urns of dancing cherubs.

Pillars holding a higher balcony

with large arched doors

topped by a metal roof and torch.

Each night the lights come on,

but no one is home.

Tastefully decorated rooms,

seen from across the street

prompt speculation.

Ghosts of great musicians

meet once a year to play for each other

in the large salon at the top.

Bought by the government,

a refuge in case of emergency

for dignitaries, those in high places.

Sign out front says,

“Finely Tuned Residences For Sale.”

It’s all about the money.

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.