snow

snow,
sleek, slippery white
skis sliding, skating,
superb.

my hair is falling out

my hair is falling out and it's not even
mundane male pattern baldness,
I can't chalk it up to old age.
my hair is falling out, handfuls at a time.
the line at my part has become a white slash
of scalp
yes, I'm freaking out
I'm too young for this, o lord
please make my hair grow back.
my hair is falling out and it's a
good thing I have that gold ring on
my left hand so he won't leave me.
although he may be bald, he
did not fall in love with a bald
woman, even if she does have
freckles.

Princess Karen

I remember the first day I entered Harvard Yard.

I quaked in my boots as I wandered among the brilliant,

the rich, the beloved, the "others", all who were not like me.

I crept into class, hoping to squeak by,

fearing the worst

A generation later, 

she owns the place, pink tiara and 

shiny boots, she quickly dismisses the guys

who claim to understand but clearly don't. 

she's the president of Harvard University,

a Princess, she will rock the world.

eating chocolate at work

it's only ten a.m.
not even lunchtime as she sneaks
next door into her colleague's office,
we hear the drawer slide open.

she waits until he is away.

we hear the crinkle of wrapper
as the chocolate bar slips into her
waiting hands, this one filled with
caramel which sticks to her fingertips.

some days this is how she gets through
the difficult analyses, the boredom or
restlessness

the rush of chocolate melting onto her tongue,
the smell of caramel warming on her fingers,
the pleasure of licking it all off.

the drunkards downstairs

from upstairs
I hear them laughing, now done
with officers' business, they uncork
whiskey and scotch, I hear the clink of
glasses and loud voices.
even the old one, the Jewish gentleman,
tells raucous stories sprinkled with
words I never could have imagined
coming out of his mouth
(except in his former drunken youth),
the other Jewish grey-hair lapsed into
speaking in a Scottish accent and
they exchanged stories of Nairobi
slums where one can rent a motel room
by the hour, not the day.
cautiously, I opened the door to
go downstairs, seeing empty liquor
bottles strewn about the table, feet up,
paperwork long done, they will
soon be asleep,
these drunkards.

irate customers

they get it for free.
fresh home-made yogurt
delivered to a refrigerator near you.
in your own house,

they complain about inconsistent quality
to the call-in customer center, staffed
for two minutes at 2 a.m. on Monday
nights.

I get post-it notes on the refrigerator
from my staff,
asking me to tell the irate customers
to tone it down.

it never works.

the irate customers are only happy when
their home delivery yogurt is perfectly smooth,
perfectly free and made with love.

finally tuckered her out

she finally flagged on the last climb,

her legs helter skelter, ski poles flailing.

this, after insisting we do one more loop,

one more than i ever do, she's tough,

that one,

she's tough and she will only have me

call it a day,
she'd  keep going regardless

i'm 58 and feeling it

but still ahead,

not for long.