The New Yorker is having a birthday –
It’s made it to one hundred years.
With each story, cartoon, poem or essay,
It’s jump-started many careers.
Despite what it’s called, you can buy it
At newsstands or else go on line
And subscribe – since my brother did try it,
He gets his in the mail before mine!
Colorado is where he is living;
We both read it and then we discuss
All the articles that it keeps giving
To curious people like us.
I have some complaints – sometimes writing
Prattles on many pages too long
And most poems, instead of delighting,
Make no sense and I don’t think I’m wrong.
Yet I’m happy for every arrival,
With a crossword to tackle, as well,
And I hope its continued survival
Will outlast those whom truth would dispel.
Temps are freezing, but the locals
Do not care a whit.
They leave their jackets at their desks
And onward they do flit...
To coffee shops and hair salons,
To newsstands, stores and banks
And for this huge convenience,
To whom do they owe their thanks?
Designers of the skyways,
Who were clever, smart and bold,
Creating walkways (glass-enclosed)
To block the rain and cold.
So those in Minneapolis
Who know their way around
Move easily from place to place
And never touch the ground.
To visitors, alas, this maze
Is daunting, so the cost
Of trying is to either freeze
Or end up getting lost!