OUR NEW REFRIGERATOR

 

To me, our old refrigerator was good enough. 

True, the ice-maker was jammed 

and one drawer had a crack in it. 

I could have lived with that 

but Katja said 

it’s always advisable to replace things 

before they go bad. 

I learned early on 

not to question this line of reasoning. 

The new refrigerator 

was scheduled to arrive on Thursday. 

Wednesday night we emptied out 

the many pounds of food. 

The freezer contents alone 

filled a Coleman ice chest, 

two styrofoam coolers, 

a large Fed Ex box. 

The refrigerator guys 

arrived on time in the morning 

and dragged our old refrigerator

out to the driveway. 

But then, horror of horrors, 

the new refrigerator 

was one inch too tall for its niche. 

“Call your construction guy,” 

the delivery man said. 

“Sand down the board by one inch.” 

We have an old freezer in our basement

and I decided to store the frozen items down there. 

When I checked, though, the freezer 

was filled to capacity. 

Our basement is dark and dingy, 

so Katja rarely goes there, 

and food can remain in the freezer forever. 

It’s like Siberia for frozen foods. 

I checked the dates on the packages, 

2018, 2019, 2020 — pre-pandemic purchases. 

My AI chatbot told me 

that meat can stay frozen for years, 

but the taste goes bad 

after 6 to 12 months. 

We started throwing packages away. 

Turkey, beef brisket, lobster tails, 

steaks, lamb chops, shish kebob. 

Hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. 

The construction guy came the next morning 

and promptly pulled off the wooden bar 

that had blocked the refrigerator. 

No sanding needed, 

With our new refrigerator in place, 

we started filling it up. 

We’d thrown so much away

that it actually looked reasonably stocked 

and not crammed to the gills. 

The new start of a sensible

though temporary food phase in our life.

JUNE WAS BURSTING WITH EXCITEMENT

 

So perplexing this weird month of June 

It’s been hotter than a Sierra wildfire 

I hope that I’ll see my sister soon 

In the meantime we’ll sit and perspire 

We’ve been watching the hearings on January Six 

The picture gets worse by the day 

Trump has been up to his most evil tricks 

I hope he's charged with nine counts of foul play 

French Open tennis, a most historic scene 

Nadal faced Norwegian Casper Ruud 

A straight set win, Rafa’s number fourteen 

Casper, outclassed, was a feckless dude 

Stephen Curry and pals played their finest hoops 

The Warriors won the entire shebang 

My sister Vicki cheered faithfully for the troops 

Now time to relax from the Sturm und Drang 

Our Improv class performed its last show 

A melodrama, “The Factory of Despair” 

We improv’d lines in the ongoing flow 

The teacher’s reaction, “Keen wit and fine flair” 

We attended a friend’s birthday party 

A boat trip along the Ohio 

The crowd was cool and arty 

So long Covid, Oh Me-O-Mio 

Katja’s purse disappeared one day 

We searched every inch of each room 

She called up Visa in utter dismay 

But there was her purse by the broom 

Each night I baited two traps with cheese 

Each morning two bodies of mice 

Murdering mice makes me feel like a sleaze 

One more smallish mouse might suffice 

Our attic air conditioner broke again 

The water poured right through the ceiling 

I first saw a pool on the rug in our den 

“Dog bladder mishap” was my feeling 

Our attic is home to a sizeable beast 

Perhaps an opossum, perhaps a raccoon 

Each night the bumping noises have increased 

We will call the trapper number pretty soon 

Our little dog Iko hates firecrackers 

He whines and crawls under the bed 

I get a bit peeved with the neighborhood slackers 

Though I know there are worse things to dread 

OLLI has started a new poetry group 

It meets every Thursday for eight weeks 

Just what I need to stay in the loop 

And fiddle with poetic techniques

Life With Iko

Kitchen Horrors

“Wake up, wake up

We caught the mouse

But he is still alive

Please please go down to the kitchen”

“Stop poking me

I’m sound asleep

The mouse will die soon

This can wait until morning”

Then it was morning

I made my way downstairs

The mousetrap, empty, upside down

The mouse a foot away

Lying on his  back

Kicking, jerking

Squirming, writhing

Unable to right himself 

I slid a New Yorker under the helpless body

Laid an AARP magazine on the top

Rolled the bundle in a coffin-like cylinder

And carried the package to the driveway

What does one do when the mousetrap fails?  

I tossed the crippled body into my neighbor’s garden

Watched as the leaves shook about

What now?  How long?  

I walked away, stoop-shouldered, head down 

The demeanor of a guilt-ridden murderer    

Old Dog, New Tricks

A new world, truly.

Because I have fewer underlying conditions 

I volunteered to be  

head grocery shopper for our household. 

An honor though not without its own perils.  

I like to think of myself as a type of domestic first responder. 

This morning Katja gave me the weekly list

and I set out for Clifton Market.

Most items were a snap:

Peanut butter, black olives, greenish bananas, 

dog food, unsalted butter, Bounty paper towels. 

More challenging, the unsweetened cocoanut, 

but I enlisted a shelf-stocking lad 

who guided me straight to my item.  

I eventually found the vinegar department myself

but had to call home on to see 

if “apple cider vinegar”

were the same as the

“cider vinegar” on my list. 

(It was.) 

Two avocados made up the final items

on my scavenger hunt 

and I asked a masked pale-skinned clerk 

where the avocados were.

She pointed to the end of the produce aisle

where I found a variety of exotic fruits

organized symmetrically in cardboard boxes.

Unfortunately only the mangoes and the kiwis were labelled.  

Not entirely confident in my judgment

I picked out two dark green, lumpy, ovular fruits

and carried these back to the masked clerk.

“Would these be the avocados?” I asked hesitantly. 

She looked at me strangely

and nodded affirmatively.

“Would you like my help in choosing some?” she volunteered.

Though appreciative, I graciously declined.

Walking home I reflected

how much I’ve grown 

in my new responsibilities 

as head grocery shopper.  

Covid Chit Chat

Cooped up forever, it’s driving me insane 

I have to get out, maybe go to a store 

A store?  What store?  And go there what for?   

Please shelter in place, stick with the campaign

But we're out of pickles and cottage cheese 

And I’ve barely one six-pack of Coke 

Coca-cola, pickles, is this a bad joke?

The store is Grand Central for killer disease   

I'll wear my new mask, it’s bulletproof protection

Stay six feet away, no kisses, no hugs

Just keep this in mind, no vaccines, no drugs 

They've no way of taming this demon infection 

Being scared of a germ isn’t my cup of tea 

Since when have you been such a sissy? 

I'll tell you a thing or two, Missy
So sad but we oldies no longer are free

Well I’m going to the store and that's that

I was thinking that maybe you'd drive me there 

O.K., holy moly, I don’t even care 

Anything to wind up this god-awful spat 

So pleased you've decided to see things my way

Already you’ve made this a non-COVID day 

(And out the door they went, hand in hand) 

Home Haircuts: A Triolet

My hair, I’d say, looks a bit odd 

Though my wife reassures me it’s fine 

What if  her stylistics are flawed?

My hair, I’d say, looks a bit odd

She plows through my tangles roughshod

Pooh-poohs my complaints when I whine 

My hair, I’d say, looks a bit odd 

Though my wife reassures me it’s fine

Autobiographical: A 7 x 7 x 7 Poem*

Firstborn son to Doris, Vic 

Menominee, Michigan

Thick of the Great Depression 

Off to Washington Grade School

Littlest kid in the class

Number two at spelling

Though next to last at marbles 

Age nine, we moved out of town

Our pine house on the river 

My two brothers, my sister

Not one other kid nearby

Irish setters, Mike, Micky

Swimming with the bloodsuckers

Basketball versus Steven 

Soon Menominee High School

Good at English, math, and art 

Wood shop, probably the worst 

Clerked at Grandfather’s drugstore 

Cruised with chums around the loop

Too shy to have a girlfriend

Braces in my senior year

Antioch by accident      

First an engineering nerd

Then Lit, then Psychology

Second year I fell in love

Wore our berets like beatniks 

Drank a lot of three-two beer 

Married Katja at the end 

Graduate school a nightmare             

Big Ten, Michigan football  

My dissertation, good grief

Six years, then off to Cincy

Joint appointment, Psych and Soc

An anxious classroom teacher

Struggling to get tenure

Justin born in sixty-nine

We bought our house in Clifton

Katja, teacher, social work

Such insane tennis parents

We lost our fathers, mothers

Then three brothers, much too young 

Hikes with sheepdogs and a friend

I retired, 2-0-0-9

Joined the gym, took line dancing 

Started OLLI, back to school

Writing loony poetry

Family visits to NOLA 

Grandkids, Vida and Leo

And that’s my story to date

    *7 stanzas; 7 lines per stanza; 7 syllables per line (plus a 7-syllable title)

The Grandfather Clock

I have stood in this hallway for forty-two years

reliably chiming out hour after hour

Otherwise silent, unobtrusive

In my early years 

my owners admired me greatly

They took note of my hands 

each time they passed by 

Now I blend into the decor 

Though I’m rarely noticed

I observe everything

I know my people inside and out

He the quiet one

She the more exuberant

They chit-chat about various matters

A favorite topic is the thermostat

She likes it higher in the winter, lower in the summer

He prefers the opposite

believing that to be less costly

But she doesn’t worry about that

Other days he offers recycling tips

About not putting plastic bags in the basket

Or paper plates spotted with gravy

She has no interest in these things

He is careful to sort out

the recycling and the trash

In truth, the man knows very little about the household

How to work the dishwasher or the percolator

Or what exactly goes to the dry cleaner

His main jobs are to take out the garbage and shovel the walk

He is not always successful with the garbage

She handles all the rest

The plumber, the roofers, the circuit breakers, the bank

Et cetera

The adult responsibilities 

The woman spends much of her time downstairs with me

Watching PBS or QVC

Rachel Maddow, Judge Judy

Midsomer Murders 

The man is upstairs on the computer

Playing solitaire or fiddling with unfinished poems

Sometimes he strikes me as mildly insane

They do watch Jeopardy together

Also Riverdale and Ray Donovan

At the breakfast table she reads the New York Times (more cosmopolitan)

He, the Cincinnati Enquirer (more provincial)

Then she turns on NPR and does the Jumble

He struggles with the Sudoku

As a clock, I have never had a single complaint

I lead a tranquil and satisfying life

Though I sometimes think 

the humans might enjoy

a little more oom-pah-pah 

Parenthood

February 1969

A noisy gathering at Ann and Clyde’s 

In the midst of the revelry

Katja (my dear wife) said to the group 

“I have an announcement”

She blushed a bit

then proceeded to explain

that she was going to have a baby

I was stunned

The first I’d heard

“But you are taking the pill,” I said

“Not for several months,” she replied

“But we never talked about this,” I said

She reminded me I’d suggested

a maternity rider to our insurance

Which was true although 

it wasn’t exactly the same

We attended Natural Childbirth classes

and they taught me to help with Katja’s breathing

The fateful day came

We rushed to Christ Hospital

I sat at Katja’s bedside and

said in my most calm voice

“Breathe….breathe….breathe….”

She yelled (uncalmly)

“I am breathing goddammit!”

Minutes later the doctor suggested 

it might be best 

if I were to wait in the waiting room

Katja was in labor for twenty-six hours

Midway she started yelling out

“It’s my turn, it’s my turn”

But they refused to honor her place in the line

The next day we had a newborn son

Justin or Barnaby?  I asked

She had liked Justin

I leaned toward Barnaby 

“Justin” his mother said

We were nervous parents

Our new baby had his own room

We’d lie awake at night

listening for his breathing

When we couldn’t hear anything

we’d leap out of bed and tiptoe in

Sure enough, he would be breathing gently

That was nearly a half century ago

Justin now has two kids of his own

Even though they live far away in New Orleans

late at night we still listen

to hear if our young son is 

breathing in the next room

Valuables

My wife  —  ultra distressed

Scouring the bedroom

Boxes flung about 

“I can’t find them!” 

She is missing two

pieces of jewelry

One a necklace

from her best friend Eleanor

The cleaning lady, I point out,

has had different helpers lately

“I’m not saying but…”

Then I offer my suggestion that

a lock box might be

a good idea

(Very long pause)

.

.

.

.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

I ask

“Not particularly,” my wife 

replies

“I could put my 

valuables in it too,” I add

getting more excited by my idea

“You don’t have any valuables,”

my wife says in a 

matter-of-fact tone 

“I do so … of course I do”

(Several minutes of silent thought)

There are my cuff links from Target

Or my large toenail clipper

Also my Roger Federer socks  

Then it comes to me:

“My Swiss Army knife!”

Frasier Addicts: A Monotetra

We visit Frasier every night

On goes Netflix, off the light        

All these characters, strange, uptight           

Oh such delight, oh such delight

Frasier, it’s clear, is ultra smart

His brother Niles quotes Jung and Sartre

While Daphne has the softest heart

Each plays their part, each plays their part

Frasier, of course, can be quite prissy

And Niles will often act like a sissy

Martin, their dad, instead gets hissy 

 Prissy sissy, sissy hissy

  

The radio gang, they all are witty

Producer Roz, she’s oh so pretty

Sports stud Bulldog can be gritty

Seattle’s their city, Seattle’s their city 

A heartwarming time with Frasier we’ve had 

I have to admit that we’re hooked so bad

We’re nearing the end, so sad, so sad 

Must find a new fad, must find a new fad

"What Is Marriage Really Like?"

“Grandpa,” they asked, as it got close to bedtime

“What is marriage really like?”  

I hemmed and hawed, my brain stuffed with weevils

Marriage can mean so many different things

An Argentine tango, a Chinese buffet  

In bad times, the chilblains or snarling pit bulls 

Suddenly it came to me, a Eureka moment

“Children,” I said, “marriage is like…a hike in the forest!”

And we all know what hiking in the forest is like 

Hikers set off with such rosy expectations

Eager to embrace nature in all its splendor

Fireflies mating, squirrels building their nests

The rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker

Even mysterious snarls from beyond the pine trees 

Deep in the forest hikers find their own secret space

Friends, parents, neighbors, far off in the distance 

They can laugh and sing, hug and kiss, do a silly dance

Or argue and scowl and scream and rant

But, as hikers, they have to create their routines

Which way to go, to the east or the west?

When one gets tired, the other slows down

And what to do when one strays from the path? 

Every minute in the forest, filled with give-and-take  

Hikers stick together on their way through the forest

Moving along at their two-person pace 

They are there to protect and support one another

Talking, watching, pointing, expressing their feelings

It’s sharing that makes their experiences memorable 

Hikes in the forest extend through the seasons

The best of times, a lush world, filled with plenty 

But leaves lose their luster, start trickling to the ground

Freezing ice sets in, the world is near dead 

If hikers stay patient, tiny buds pop open, the flora returns 

In time the forest’s wonders begin to wane

The trees, grass, and streams start to look the same 

As the long hike goes on, talk slows to a halt  

Hikers lapse into silence, immersed in private thoughts

Some portions of the forest make hiking exhausting 

Climbing steep hills, descending into ravines

The forest is challenging, even threatening at times 

Hikers struggle to make their way together 

But sometimes it’s too much and their journey ends

The last leg of the hike is sometimes the best 

Many miles traversed, the end now in sight

A time to reflect, to meditate

To appreciate the sights and sounds of the day 

Fish jumping in the pond, the bullfrogs croaking 

The Great Blue Heron flying overhead 

Memories to bring home to keep the hike alive 

So bedtime is here, that’s the end of my story 

Thanks to you, I’m now definitely clear on one thing 

Marriage is not an omelet, a chess game, a circus

Not a hailstorm, not even the tunnel of love 

Marriage, my chummies, is a hike in the forest!