poem of the day 12.03.10

sucking in the season

pat the bartender points over
to the other side of the joint

what’s that? he asks b.j. and i

a menorah, b.j. says

i know that, pat says
what’s it doing in here?

it’s the first day of hanukah, b.j. says
it’s a decoration

don’t give me that crap, pat says
this is a goddamned irish bar

so?

so we don’t put no menorahs
in this place

but it’s the season, b.j. says

to hell with the season, pat says

he begins mopping the floor
taking sips from his second cup of coffee
because the day bartender threw his
first one away by accident

it’s this season, pat says, stopping
that makes it so that i can’t wish anyone
a merry christmas anymore

i know, pat, b.j. says, going back
to his beer and scotch

what kind of a world? pat asks no one
he goes back to mopping

and you, he says, looking up at me
you been so quiet this whole time

what do you think about
all of this season bulshit?

i was wondering where your
kwanzaa candles were, i say
after setting down my pint

oh good lord in heaven, pat prays

then takes up his mop again
whistling jingle bells as he moves it
left and right
across the old hardwood floors
of mother ireland’s second home.