The Baby Shower

Outside and unmasked,
bathed in light and rinsed in breeze,
we hugged each other.

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On the Road

We drove 6 hours and the big surprise
was blue and white and vast above the car.
The sky and clouds were tonic for my eyes,
delighting me before we traveled far.
The journey soothed and made me realize
how long I’ve gone with neither cloud nor star,
confined by plague and fenced by walls and trees,
preoccupied with our calamities.

(Ottava Rima)

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Road Trip

Last year on March 13 we made the drive,
enjoyed a weekend on our brother’s farm,
returned to face a virus grown to thrive
and lockdown to reduce pandemic harm,
that launched a year and several weeks of strange:
the battle mask; debates about hygiene.
We felt perspective shift and health derange,
in nervous expectation of vaccine.

We still don’t understand the facts or trust
much news, most politicians, rumor mills.
We’re doing what we’re able, to adjust
to civil (not) and pan-infectious ills.
We’re driving to the farm again, today,
as if catastrophes have gone away.

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Day Off Ditty

I slept in till 7 today –
a symptom, a clue and a sign
that lately I’m choosing to pay
the price my affections define.
For weeks I’ve consented to play
all roles love and promise assign.

I rose and read myself. I stress-confessed,
and can’t ignore the wisdom of a rest.

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Invisible Partners

My personal computer can restart
itself, without command or aim from me.
My iPad and my cellphone are so smart,
their updates relegate to history
an app or two I bought deliberately.
I purchased the equipment, but indeed,
a phantom partner runs output and feed.

(Rhyme Royal)

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A Healthy Range

The price I pay for shade is bloom delay.
The cost of filtered sun is leggy limb.
The plants are healthy, by and large, today,
but parasols of eucalyptus dim
the light intensity, as redwood arms
and jacaranda branches modulate
the brilliant zap that gooses as it warms.
And so my plants extend beyond their weight.

I tried to do them right. I cut them back
aggressively for winter, and I fed
them nutrients and water in the spring.
Defending them (no toxins) from attack,
I wanted denser roses but instead,
I got this balance-challenged blossoming.

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Covid Recovery at 95

Her skin is as thin as a wet paper bag.
It tears from the tiniest bump.
She’s paler than ghostly, too tired to nag,
and weekly we find a new lump.
She’s losing fat where she’d be better off plump
(although she likes fleeing weight’s curse).
She’s often confused and she talks like a grump,
but thinks the alternative’s worse.

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Overgrowth

The garden needs a pruning now, because
too little rain all winter had me turn
the sprinklers on so early. We’ll have laws
or regulations soon that we decrease
consumption, and we hope it’s just a pause,
but honestly, I think our climate’s toast.
Too few regard environmental flaws.
Too late are most apparently to learn.
I’d better bathe before the flow withdraws.

(Magic 9)

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Back on the Bus

The driver had to show me where to tag
my Clipper Card when I got on the bus.
I hadn’t ridden since the ruinous
pandemic made our every day a drag.

My transit gear of old was in my bag,
but habits fade – I needed to discuss.
The driver had to show me where to tag
my Clipper Card when I got on the bus.

Restrictions to my movement start to sag.
The rules relax and guidance loses fuss.
We almost glimpse a forward path for us,
when vaccinated vigilance can flag.
(The driver had to show me where to tag.)

(Rondel)

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Contagion

We pay a visit every other day.
The residents are not diversified.
Most everyone we see is ashen-gray,
Caucasian-ancient, female, rheumy-eyed.
The corridors are windowless and long.
The care is fair but no one’s getting strong.
The patient looks I take are dull and dreary.
That may be why I woke today so weary.

It’s like I caught the tone of 95!
I drank caffeine and rode my standing bike –
I pedaled till I felt a partial fix.
I did a class when I hit half-alive,
and mended more. I reached a stage I like,
and now don’t feel a day past 56.

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