9/9/26

Nine times nine is eighty-one,
And eight plus one is nine. That’s fun!
This date is great because the trick’s
There’s just one eight: That’s two plus six!

Contracted Schedule

Happy Monday! (Yes, it was,
In fact, a Tuesday, but because
Our forebears fought for five-day weeks,
September’s calendar has leaks
Through which a Monday’s wont to drain
(Which means it will–I won’t explain
The difference (though I could) to you
Right now: Short week! Too much to do.)).

Love, Actually

Tennis is a sport I’d never
Thought I would be good at, ever.
When a day match ends at night
I’m happy to admit I’m right!

(In fairness, though, if I were playing,
No one would be overstaying
Their coin-metered parking spaces
Watching my opponent’s aces.)

Slippery Hope

Wrigley’s often wet and windy
Not so bad when bats you wield
But cleatless sneakers slide outside:
Night volleyball at Wrigley Field

Same-Day Delivery, Please

An itsy-bitsy spider
Went up the waterspout
Stayed a couple weeks
Then Gargantua crawled out.
Out came the Raid
But the beast had other plans
So now I’m scouring Amazon for bombs
With death’s heads on the cans.

For Those Who Observe

Labor Day weekend
When we solemnly agree
Not to go to work

Wetter Report

Rain is not uncommon where
I live. It’s always in the air
(But lately rarely falling down,
Explaining why my lawn’s so brown),
So it should not have been surprising
Finding that the creek was rising
Higher than anticipated
Since it last precipitated
Overnight here, back in May.
They’d saved it for a rainy day!

Good Wood

Anniversaries are nice.
It’s like you’re celebrating twice
(Or more) for something that’s complete,
And often with your best friend. Sweet.

Blackout Curtains Will Help

Maggie May is still asleep.
Rod’s got thoughts; for now, they’ll keep.
The school year’s only just begun
Without him. It’s September 1.

PSL PTSD

By almost any common measure
Summer’s done. The solar pleasure
We anticipated may
Have overplayed its hand, but hey,
The days were long (if freakin’ hot)
From June through August. Now, they’re not,
And growing less so every morning.
Winter’s on its way. Fair warning.