Today my aunt turns 98
And for her age, she’s doing great,
So we came down to celebrate,
The least that we can do.
We schmoozed a little yesterday
With snacks we picked up on the way
And brought an ice cream treat today
(Since I had craved one, too).
Then on to mah jongg in a place
Where seniors gather, face to face,
To play a game they all embrace
(The rules of which I knew).
Two hours flew by and then back where
Three huge bouquets were waiting there,
Plus cards and phone calls, all to share
Her birthday, right on cue.
Tonight, there’ll be a dinner out;
That’s what a birthday’s all about,
And at that age, there is no doubt
Best wishes sure are due.
My aunt plays mah jongg twice a week
And, far as I can tell,
She likes the game at the Senior Center
Known as “Aging Well.”
While visiting, I joined her there
And dusted off my skills,
Observing all the functions that
The Center thus fulfills –
Camaraderie, the sense of pride
That competition brings
And time away from home in which
To stretch reluctant wings.
At 97 years of age,
My aunt still likes to play
And “Aging Well” allows her
To keep doing things her way.
My mother didn’t cook too well
And neither did she bake.
If you’d assume she loved to clean,
That would be a mistake.
She didn’t drive, she didn’t work
But she was always there.
If comfort was required, well,
She had the time to spare.
If something needed fixing,
She’s the one who’d man the tools
And raising us, it’s she who made us
Follow all the rules.
She was athletic, playing tennis
When she had the chance
And at a party, she would be
The first to start to dance.
She loved her games and puzzles,
Playing mah jongg every week
And did crosswords in the paper,
With an always-finish streak.
My mom’s been gone for years, yet on
Her birthday I recall
That, despite her flaws, without her
I would not be here at all.
If you have bridge chairs, playing bridge
Is not their only use.
Try mah jongg or canasta -
Any game needs no excuse.
Or set them up for extra guests
So everyone can sit,
Especially if there’s
A fold-up table where they’ll fit.
The same goes for a coffee cup,
For cocoa or some tea
Can fill it up as well as java -
Wouldn’t you agree?
Of course, that coffee cup may rest
Upon a coffee table,
Which may hold books or magazines,
Despite its coffee label.
And yet, if you’ve a bookcase,
You may get some eye-roll looks
If the shelves have only knickknacks,
When it’s meant for holding books.
I used to mark the days by what
I’d scheduled to do,
Like Fridays with the grandkids
For our weekly rendezvous.
On Thursdays there was quilting
And on Wednesdays, never fear,
I’d be at the museum where
I am a volunteer.
On Tuesdays I’d play mah jongg
Once a month, or else I’d go
With my husband to a movie
Or museum for a show.
On Mondays, with some friends, I’d meet
To walk and have a meal
In places in the city that
We’d heard had some appeal.
The weekends often took me
With my daughter and my spouse
Out to rural Pennsylvania
Where we own a country house.
Yet now the days meld into one –
No differentiation –
With all of my activities
On permanent vacation.
It’s meaningless to call each day,
Like Sunday, by its name
At least to me, for in my life,
They’re sadly, all the same.
My Aunt Sydelle turned 91;
To find a gift was hard,
But then I had a great idea –
A years-old Mah Jongg card.
She’d mentioned wishing that she had
A card from ’55,
The year when she first bought her set,
To keep that time alive.
On eBay I did track one down
To match her Mah Jongg set.
Her face when she unwrapped it
Was as thrilled as one could get.
Way back in 1955
When this same card was new
No one could have quite predicted
It would make a fresh debut.
Some people play* for money.
My friends and I do not,
But every time we play, we toss
Five dollars in the pot.
Our games are only once a month
But still, the pile does grow
So there’s enough to have a meal
And see a Broadway show.
That sounds like a solution
Yet it’s not a simple task.
Five different busy women –
What’s the problem, you might ask.
Because we must concur on
Both a date and then a play,
There’s never a consensus
So each month we just delay.
Our bankroll keeps increasing
Though there is no guarantee
That we’ll ever spend that money
For we simply can’t agree!
*mah jongg, a game played with tiles
We catch up on our travels
And our families and homes.
(Not everyone’s on Facebook
Or reveals such stuff in poems.)
The lives we live are parallel
Though sometimes they converge;
So when they do, on food
And conversation we do splurge.
The game is incidental;
Still, we try to do our best
But even if we lose all day,
It doesn’t make us stressed.
An afternoon of mah jongg
Fills the room with clacking tiles.
More important are the faces
Of the players, filled with smiles.
The thunder booms; the rain, it pours.
We're half inside and half outdoors.
A screened-in porch brings Nature close
But not enough to overdose.
And so we sit and mix our tiles*
As Nature ratchets up the dials.
We gaze up at the stormy sky
And dripping trees, while we stay dry.
At last it ebbs as we play on
Until the downpour's up and gone.
How cool to watch such changing scenes
Behind the shelter of the screens.
*mah Jongg playing pieces
The women far outnumber
All the ticket-holding men
And they’re decked out in their jewels
They haven’t worn since who-knows-when.
Their outfits are forgiving,
Hiding several extra pounds
And their make-up makes them glow,
Although some wrinkling abounds.
They’re delighted just to be there
On an outing with some friends,
All who rush out to the bathroom
Just as soon as Act I ends.
Most obey and shut their cell phones
And their candies they unwrap,
But there’s always one whose ringtone
Jingles loudly from her lap.
When the curtain falls, they bundle
In their coats, all set to go
And with hugs they part until
Next book club, mah jongg game or show.
My aunt is turning 88
And this is how we’ll celebrate –
She’ll join me at my mah jongg game;
(Her playing will put mine to shame).
We’ll have some lunch – there’ll be a cake
With candles, so a wish she’ll make.
Then we’ll drive home to have a drink
With laughter as our glasses clink.
This day will cap a whirlwind week
Of festive gatherings unique,
For when a person’s reached this age,
She’s earned a spot on center stage.
Not everybody has the chance
(A stroke of luck or circumstance)
To have a birthday that’s observed
By all who think it’s well-deserved.
I didn’t win at Mah Jongg,
Losing every single game,
But nonetheless I’d say
That I enjoyed it all the same.
To sit around with friends and schmooze
And then to break some bread –
There aren’t many things that I’d
Prefer to do instead.
Though often I’m competitive,
With Mah Jongg I am not.
I’m really not too good at it,
But give it all I’ve got.
So even if I have a day
Where losing is my fate,
I still look forward very much
To my next Mah Jongg date.
There aren't many games I play
For most of them require
Some patience and some strategy
Or, at the least, desire.
I quite enjoy my "Words with Friends"
But usually I lose.
The very first word that I see
Is likely what I'll choose.
Of course, I should peruse the board
And calculate the score,
But doing that would make the game
A stultifying bore.
My mah jongg buddies hem and haw
Before they make their move.
I play real fast so rarely win;
The pros would disapprove.
For competition means that all
The effort we extend
Should serve to help us play the game
And win it in the end.
The only real advantage
Of my non-competing flair
Is that when I see the outcome,
If I lose, I hardly care.
My mah jongg buddies came today
(We’re 5 if all are able)
And thus it was my turn, as host,
To prep the folding table.
It mostly lives behind my bed,
Its metal legs tucked in,
Where it just sits and gathers dust
Until the games begin.
We play but once a month and then
We rotate where we meet
And when the table’s center stage,
The set-up is complete.
The game is over, friends have gone;
The table’s bedroom-bound,
All folded up and tucked away
Until the next go-round.
Mah Jongg in the afternoon
Always ends a bit too soon.
We laugh, we chat, then play begins
And 'fore you know it, someone wins.
There's so much left we must discuss,
So four more walls are built by us
And tile by tile, they disappear
Until that "Mah Jongg!" shout we hear.
And then the game's set up once more
But we know what we're playing for -
A chance to catch up, share and schmooze;
It doesn't matter if we lose.
The hours fly by - must be a trick
The way the ending comes so quick.
At least we plan another date -
I wish we didn't have to wait.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.