There’s a woman I pass in the mornings
Who prefers not to nod a hello,
Not unusual for a New Yorker;
That’s the way that these things often go.
She seems close to my age, but walks slower
And her clothing is baggy and loose,
Unlike most of us out there with leggings,
Which she’d likely not wear, I deduce.
Yet this morning I passed her and noticed,
As I swiveled for a double-take,
That her t-shirt was very familiar
And quite certainly not a mistake.
For it once nestled, folded quite nicely,
In a drawer with the rest of my tees,
But I’d donated it to the thrift shop
Where I bring things that no longer please.
I was glad to see somebody wear it
Who’d appraised it with different eyes,
Yet I wondered why I hadn’t kept it
As an exercise shirt in my size.
Dave the delighted scarecrow had a dance and a tune
He pranced straw out of his leggings from night until noon
Black crows danced with him, making him their best friend
They even restuffed him, keeping him on the mend.
I'm standing next to you,
In the biting cold,
Wearing leggings and a coat.
I might freeze before
Your ride arrives
But I’ll wait with you
Every time.
After all,
It was me who made the call,
So, I’ll wait for you,
Even in the biting cold,
Talking about nothing
Just catching up,
Wearing leggings and a coat.
I might freeze
Before your ride arrives,
But I’ll wait with you,
Every time.
One Couple of days : On sleep of nightmare enjoying Good Day.
Clouds floating on ocean sending scorching Sun Ray
Frigid mountain starts moving, turning dynamic.
Frolic fountain now stagnant , becoming static.
Tight leggings looking quite perfect fitting with wide flare
Long Jump - High Jump champions perform, sitting on chair.
Me crazy busy whimsy clumsy : Observer orthogonal,
stepping horizontal, forwarding vertical, venturing virtual.
She smells like nothing
To the whole world
Tattered dress ripped leggings
Pigtails on the sad girl
No one sees her face
She slinks around
All hopes and dreams
Shattered no fortunes found
Onlookers judge her dirty clothes
Unrecognizable the sweet
Child of nobody and no one
Raised in the street
She smells like nothing
To the whole world
Silly Sandee Stardust shuffled when she walked
around the garden while she talked and talked.
She said she preferred using her tiny feet
because she enjoyed sniffing the sweet
scent of red roses and striped, orange lilies,
but knew not to go near the hot pepper chilis.
Though she admired their bright color, red,
Sandee had tasted one in the garden bed.
Oh, my... I'd never seen her fly so fast
to drink buttercup dew until the burning passed.
No one could miss seeing this faerie, so fair
because of her colorful clothing, chosen with care.
Pinks and greens were her favorite of all hues.
She wore snappy leggings of yellow and blues.
Her prismatic wardrobe highlighted her gold wings,
and everyone listens when this wee faerie sings.
Rosebuds in her hair, big brown eyes like a bug...
Sandee is a sweetheart, who gives everyone a hug.
My grandkids have Pajama Day
From time to time in school,
So everyone wears PJ’s,
Which the kids find very cool.
I really don’t quite get it, though,
To wake up and to keep
The outfit on that you just wore
All night while fast asleep.
And even if you change into
Fresh PJ’s, I suppose
They can’t be much more comfy
Than most routine school day clothes.
When I was young, Pajama Day
Would’ve made a lot more sense,
For I can cite my skirts and tights
And shoes as evidence.
But outfits worn today by kids -
The leggings and the sweats -
Are just about as comfortable
As clothing ever gets.
At the wharf I donned the Wellington boots
Of the fisher deceased, to trace my roots
And see and feel what it was like at sea
For my uncle a fishing devotee.
The clammy boots were three sizes too large.
I kidded myself that I could take charge,
And fill the boots with fishers' gait and guts
Aware the concept was deluded, nuts.
I felt the lure of expectation loom
As the trawler 'Gen' breached to break dawn's gloom
I embraced the hope of a bumper haul
Of keeper fish, not tiddlers, way too small.
I felt the surge of waves tug at the boots,
Like tentacles dragging against the roots
Which held my soles fast on the slimy deck.
The sea incessant for another wreck.
I felt fish guts, innards, blood and gore,
Slather on boots as fish were brought ashore,
And unloaded in bins brimful with ice.
At days end, bootlegging was hard but nice.
young nurse backed out of the transparent clinic door
she no longer wears scrubs but I wish she did
she has on flesh-colored leggings
I imagine she is bigger than I am, and I wear an eighteen
anyone over a six should not wear flesh-colored leggings
I make a note of this
oh, my, this was the nurse with the beautiful blonde hair
It is awful now, dyed in four colors
faded pink, bland purple, washed out green, gray yellow
Don’t women have mirrors anymore?
Dressed UP
I got up early,
before the dawn...
and dressed to impress.
I had nowhere at all to go,
or to be,
I just wanted to remember,
what it was like,
to see the world,
and ride my bike.
I put on a fancy hat,
and long leggings.
I knew it would be cold,
and I am old.
My bones hurt,
but I refuse
to let that stop me...
from being who I am,
and who I am...
supposed to be.
God made me,
exactly as I am...
on purpose.
Leggings, short shorts and capris,
Longer shorts that graze the knees,
Drawstrings, even dungarees
Are all out on display.
T-shirts, tank tops, jackets, sweats,
Midriff barers, sans regrets,
Shirts as varied as it gets
Are in full force today.
Hokas and New Balance vie
With Skechers, Nikes and, no lie,
Some sandals have come strolling by,
With boots mixed in the fray.
It isn’t cold but not yet hot,
So people wear what they have got
And no one really cares a lot,
For that’s the urban way.
There is a twinge in my left knee,
right on the inside of the kneecap, under the bone.
I’ll jump, sometimes.
Tendons stretching, stretching, stretching—
muscles flexing.
My foot leave the ground (pointed, of course).
My other leg is straight already (pointed, of course).
I lock myself in this position, finding the stretch, the burn, for a second in which I do not know the ground.
I fall. Land on one toe, then a foot, then a weight that cannot possibly belong to me.
My knee twinges.
I ignore it.
I stretch the other side, there is no twinge.
I go back to my left. Twinge. Twinge. I ignore it.
Wearing knee braces on top of leggings, is embarrassing, anyway.
She wore thick leggings
our childhood polio albatross
mass Sabin vaccine sauce
body snatcher ritual
fixed beautiful legs.
(In early elementary school she wore braces most of the way through 6th grade. We all went to the nearby JHS to drink the approved Sabin vaccine. By 7th grade she had healed. She had beautiful, working legs.) She has recently, physically passed. This is in remembrance of her.)
Today’s my daughter’s birthday.
She has so-called “special needs.”
Each year, she gives a list of gifts
She wants; my husband heeds.
I also add some extra things
I think might hit the spot.
A word search book of rock & roll
She seemed to like a lot.
A t-shirt with her birthday year,
Some leggings with designs,
But there is one thing after which
She always always pines.
A teddy bear! She owns so many
She needs not one more,
Yet that’s the gift above all others
She is waiting for.
And luckily for her, her brother
Found a “birthday bear.”
With party hat and cupcake,
It’s a bear beyond compare.
Her group home made a party
Which she loved, Hawaiian style,
But her birthday bear was what produced
The biggest birthday smile!
Out for a walk to get some air
Some folks dress up but most don’t care.
The jeans or leggings people wear
Are hardly worth a mention.
Fancy clothes out here are rare,
Deserve a glance but not a stare
For even those who do prepare
Don’t get that much attention.
I don’t think that I’m alone
In stating lately I am prone
To dress in ways I’d not condone
When following convention.
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