OLDIES IN NEW ORLEANS

Excited to be back in our favorite city

J and K's new home, so spacious and pretty

They’ve moved to Wirth Place 

For our youth, a new base 

And don’t forget Li’l Paws and the kitty 

Our first night, J made Skyline Chili 

NOLA Skyline might sound a bit silly 

But it tasted so good 

We knew that he could 

This Big Easy creation was a dilly 

The Southern Jewish Museum is grand 

Gripping stories presented firsthand 

It touched upon fears 

And we shed a few tears 

Jews making the rural South their homeland 

K brought us to lunch at Freret Faire 

Rouse’s deli with their own pastrami flair 

The guy messed up our check 

Saved five dollars by heck 

I stayed silent, pretended we were square 

Our grandkids’ report cards, straight A’s 

Their teachers had nothing but praise 

Math and English and art 

To excel takes such heart 

Eighth grade mastered, A and L do amaze 

Dat Dog has the fanciest treats 

Alligator sausage, weirdest of meats 

We took a bench outside 

Stuffed our guts till we cried 

Then rode home on the bumpiest streets 

We went to the Newman High game 

Arch Manning’s already gained fame 

He’s headed for Texas 

Perhaps with a Lexus 

But Arch’s team, I must say, they looked lame 

To the Quarter and the famous Redfish Grill 

Delicious plus a not-too-bad bill 

For me, a po-boy

Raw oysters, Katja’s joy 

Redfish chefs have the best Cajun skill 

Thanksgiving p.m., to the track 

People costumed like Lulu and Mac 

Our group bet some dough 

But our nags were too slow 

So we bugged out, came home for a snack 

J cooked up a twenty-pound turkey 

Filled its skin with butter, so quirky 

All the family did sides 

Boosted triglycerides 

So scrumptious we all felt quite perky 

At the Orleans Historic Collection 

A tour of Notre Dame’s resurrection 

Viewed a digital display 

Filmed from every which way 

Holy Moly, this cathedral nears perfection 

 Off to Marsalis Park, the Art Mart 

 Paintings, jewelry, we loved every part 

 Classic New Orleans scenes 

 And the pics of drag queens 

 All that beauty infuses one’s heart 

Ted’s Frostop is a circa fifties diner 

Never been to a diner that’s finer 

Their burgers were tops 

Not to mention soda pops 

Dreamed up by some kitschy designer 

We shopped at the parkway Goodwill 

My black leather belt, such a thrill 

It cost just six bucks

And it’s ultra-deluxe 

It will last till I’m in the landfill 

Our group did the Museum of Art 

Black photographers, portraits so smart 

Bourgeois in acrylic 

Surreal scenes idyllic 

Too sad that we had to depart 

We watched the Big Ten’s top-ranked game 

U. of M., O.S.U., such acclaim 

And wonder of wonders 

The Buckeyes made blunders 

And our Wolverines affirmed their fierce name 

M.S. Rau sells antiques and fine art 

It helps set Royal Street apart 

Picasso, a million two 

Chagall prices, “Whew Whew” 

A million-dollar chess set tickled my heart 

La Crepe Nanou on our very last night 

The perfect wind-up ahead of our flight 

My salmon was delicious 

The dessert was capricious 

Nanou was a connoisseur’s delight 

To the airport, beignets at Morning Call 

Big jolts of strong coffee for all 

So sad to be leaving 

Already we’re grieving 

This trip, we agree, was a ball

WHERE I AM FROM

 

I was born and grew up in Menominee, Michigan,

the seat of Menominee County, 

on the Michigan-Wisconsin border, 

the gateway to the Upper Peninsula, 

halfway between the Equator and the North Pole, 

population about 10,000 in 1940, 

the fourth largest city in the U.P., 

bordered by the Menominee River to the south 

and Lake Michigan’s bay of Green Bay to the east, 

twin city to Marinette, Wisconsin, 

172 miles north of Milwaukee, 

120 miles south of Lake Superior. 

5.2 square miles, I could reach any 

point in town on my bike in ten minutes. 

Menominee has always enjoyed perfect air, 

its stars glisten at night, 

its water quality is excellent, 

summer temperatures in the seventies, 

and winters enjoy an average 

annual snowfall of 48 inches.* 

“Menominee” means “land of wild rice”, 

the staple of the Menominee Indians 

who originally populated the region. 

The world capital of logging in the 1890’s, 

Menominee was destined 

to become a manufacturing town: 

paper products, wicker furniture, auto supplies. 

The business district spreads along the Green Bay shore. 

Montgomery Ward, the A&P grocery store, 

the Five and Dime, the G.I. Surplus store, 

the Vogue for women’s clothes. 

Once home to fur trappers, lumberjacks, and Great Lakes seamen, 

Menominee in my youth was a man’s world. 

My mother and her women friends 

each raised three or four children, 

managed their households, 

tended eye-catching gardens, 

and were skilled at hostessing 

grand parties in their homes. 

Men were breadwinners and captains of the ship, 

fanatic about the Green Bay Packers, 

spent days at hunting camp each November, 

played poker weekly, drank 

too much, told raunchy stories. 

As boys we learned that males 

should be strong, independent, 

athletic, emotionally unexpressive, 

and disinterested in school. 

Boys took wood shop and auto shop, 

girls took home ec and typing. 

As a small town in a rural region 

Menominee had no art museums or galleries, 

no community exposure to classical music, 

no professional theater, 

a low percentage of college graduates. 

One traffic light, two movie theaters, 

one public and one parochial high school, 

eight taverns, fifteen churches. 

Two dips of ice cream cost a nickel at the Ideal Dairy. 

Diversity was an unknown concept. 

Ninety-nine percent white, 

ninety-nine percent Christian 

(among those professing religion). 

A blue-collar Democratic stronghold in my youth, 

65 percent of residents voted for Trump in 2020. 

High school football reigns supreme. 

The M&M (Menominee-Marinette) game 

is the oldest interstate public school rivalry in the nation, 

and the Menominee Maroons have won three state championships

in their division in the last 25 years. 

Crime was infrequent, and parents never worried 

about letting their children run free in the neighborhood. 

Menominee’s most attractive features 

have to do with its outdoor life. 

It’s an important Lake Michigan port, 

hosts a thriving marina, 

and many locals own sailboats or power boats. 

Menominee County has the largest 

deer population in the U.P., 

and schools closed each year for the first day of hunting season. 

Nearly every family owns guns, 

and the annual murder rate is almost always zero. 

Green Bay beaches are numerous, 

and Menominee has some of the best bass fishing in the nation. 

There are seven golf courses in the area. 

 Camping, swimming, hiking, biking, 

snowmobiling, skating, ice-sailing, cross-country skiing. 

 It’s a good place for kids to grow up 

although a majority usually leave for more cosmopolitan places. 

 *Stats from: www.city-data.com

WRESTLING WITH IKO

 

Our schnauzer is a world-class sleeper 

until I get up and get dressed 

whereupon he comes to the edge of the bed, 

leaps up on his hind legs, 

and paws ferociously at the air. 

Rrrhhaahg Aarghhh Arrrhh 

“Okay Iko, you’re asking for it.” 

I push his shoulders down, press on his snout. 

Grahmmg Rrahgg 

Iko jerks his head free and snaps at my wrist 

but I grab him by a back leg 

and spank his hind-quarters. 

“Rub-a-dub-a-dub.” 

Ghrrarr Rrahrr 

Iko snaps, I give him a poke. 

Over he goes onto his back. 

Whrahhrrr Arghhaah 

Bouncing this way and that, 

kicking his legs in the air, 

Ggrrhhm grraahh 

I punch him gently in the ribs. 

“Take that, Mister.” 

Iko twists all 22 pounds back and forth 

and tries to bite my forearm. 

Brrggg Rrufff Rff Rff 

He rolls back onto his feet 

and shakes his head. 

Grrahh Rrgghhh 

Grips my right hand in his mouth. 

“Ouch. Not so rough, Buster.” 

I shove my knuckles against his teeth. 

Iko twists and turns, backs up and growls. 

Rrahgga rhurgg 

And so it goes, on and on, 

until we finally get tired. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

 Iko leaps down onto the carpet 

 and out we head for our morning walk. 

 Rmmff Grahhrrr

I AM COUNTING ON WORDLE

 

I wake each morning at half past nine, 

brush my teeth, swallow my pills, 

brew the coffee, 

then tackle the daily Wordle. 

Wordle is what gives me life hope. 

Like mother love 

or finding a twenty-dollar bill. 

A mind-tickler, a super-vitamin, 

keeping my neurons and protons firing, 

the red blood pumping to my frontal lobes. 

One gets six guesses to find the secret word 

but four or five are usually enough. 

Three are cause for celebration, 

two are like winning the lottery. 

This is why Wordle is addictive. 

Mental strain, yes, but 

one success after the next. 

I play Wordle with the multitudes, 

fellow Wordlers in Stockholm and San Salvador, 

Cedar Rapids and Missoula. 

Republicans and Democrats, 

Blacks and Whites, 

Church-goers and atheists. 

Billions of Wordlers, 

all working together 

toward a single goal. 

My son does Wordle too. 

He is more successful because 

he belongs to a more woke generation. 

The New York Times tells me how 

my results compare with the masses. 

I am proud to report that I am 

almost always a perfect average. 

A reassuring accomplishment

for one who worries 

that his brain might be getting wobbly.

A BOWERY TALE

 

                                                                  with nods to Robert W. Service and the Salvation Army 

When I reached age twenty and thought I knew plenty I moved to New York to find work 

Fresh from the U.P. and thrilled to be free the city was a mind-blowing perk 

For I longed to be a writer who would make the days brighter and I scoured the Big Apple for material 

Ten million stories full of heartbreak and glories and characters whose lives felt ethereal 

The Bowery was the best with its souls dispossessed who hoped they’d survive through the night 

So I started going down and just hanging around to gather strange tales to write 

There were lots of old drunks and a few mean-eyed punks but most chaps were docile and kind 

I’d pay for their beer which produced lots of cheer and they’d tell me dark secrets on their mind 

One day I drank a lot and didn’t feel so hot so I headed for the subway uptown 

The mission’s service was starting so instead of departing I decided I ought to stick around 

The room was jam-packed with no space at the back but the front row contained one last seat 

There were hundreds of men who were back once again and were desperate for something to eat 

The mission served dinners but their true aim was sinners so a sermon preceded the meal 

Major Cherney had zip and she shot from the hip, saying winos deserve a fair deal 

Major wound up her thing by insisting we sing, then invited non-diners to go 

Not planning to eat I got up from my seat and the crowd whispered, “This guy’s so slow” 

Major pointed to the rear and though wobbly from beer I finally stumbled to a door 

The hall was pitch black and I nearly turned back when a grasping hand shook me to the core 

It was Captain Olive Green in her uniform pristine whose intent was to save me from my fate 

She asked lots of stuff about life being rough and dissected my addled mental state 

I vowed to leave skid row, work to conquer my woe, and hopefully regain my lost pride 

Olive said that the Army ran a mission less smarmy way up on the Upper East Side 

I promised to attend although that was pretend and my only desire was escape 

Captain Olive wished me well, said I wasn’t bound for Hell, and prayed I would wind up shipshape 

So my last Bowery visit was less than exquisite and the time came to say my farewell 

And yet, nonetheless, I am happy to confess that I did find a story to tell

OUR U.P. ROAD TRIP: A VILLANELLE

 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

Passing Milwaukee the very first day 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P.  

Lunch break at Culvers in Wausaukee 

Butterburgers, custard, our diets now astray 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

The Interstate Bridge to Menominee 

Sheridan Road tracks the shore of Green Bay 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P. 

Our family is here, such hoopla and glee 

The kids at Farm do their artwork and play 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

Katja does the fudge store, the thrift shops for me 

My birthday at Berg’s Landing, the high point of our stay 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P. 

A time to share, be laid back and carefree 

It feeds one’s soul to travel so far away 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P.

AT THE SYMPHONY

 

Schumann 

Wonder how long it will be? 

Should be pleasant 

These are really good seats 

Probably cost a fortune 

Katja should have asked me 

Balcony would have been fine 

Maybe even better 

That woman has pretty hair 

I wonder if it’s natural 

Unusual color 

Must be dyed 

I need a haircut so badly 

I hate going to the barber 

Hate having to make small talk 

It doesn’t matter 

I don’t need to look decent 

I don’t even need to shave 

A retirement perk 

I wonder how the department is doing? 

It’s amazing how quickly I forgot my career 

I never give it a thought 

They’ve probably forgotten me too 

I do still have all my books and papers 

What will happen to my stuff when I die?   

We don’t even have graves at Spring Grove 

I want to be cremated 

but I’ll probably die first 

and Katja will stick me in a casket 

Charles died last week 

I am running out of friends  

They either die or move away 

We’ll have to get along on our own I

hope we’re able to stay in our house 

Whoops, there’s the end 

(I stand and applaud enthusiastically)