poem of the day 12.20.13

white christmas

late october

still sweating in the ugly bowels

of the new york city subway system

choked on trains with everyone else,

we are pushed off at the atlantic avenue

station to the sounds

of steel drums and keyboards playing

white christmas,

and the pumpkins lining brooklyn windows

haven’t even been thrown out onto the sidewalk yet

to rot into the pavement like dog shit.

people are humming along

and coats are held tighter,

as if the music has put a temporary chill and magic

into the scorched air of chemicals

and petroleum residue.

jesus christ, i think.

you’d expect this bullshit happiness

being trumped out so early

on the television or in the windows

of chain stores.

but musicians on a subway platform?

well, then i realize this season has become too much

we need the fake joy shot into us with the frequency

of a junkie.

what good was halloween anyway

with the cacophony of city neighborhoods

and the religious still duking it out?

i actually like halloween better than christmas.

it seems less put-on.  real.

and i wish i could fall asleep november first

after a night drunk with the evening horror show

and wake up on january second

when the real horror show has ended.

maybe the cold weather will finally be here.

if nothing else, at least people will be

done with all of this good cheer and good will toward man,

and they’ll all be back inside with their bills and holiday regret,

fat and lazy like always.

and the musicians on the platform will get back

to playing something good, like coltrane or bach.

                                    10.30.07