Walking between subway underpasses
escaping the cold, State St. to Dearborn
and back to State. Street musicians
strumming on broken strings, hey give me
a Christmas carol if you want my dime.
I’m Christmas walking, holiday stalking
in Macy’s behind a group of tiny nuns,
what divine madness makes them shop
for Frango Mints in this cold weather?
But I stay close to them, getting emotional
this time of year.
I’ll cha-cha to Dickens, rumba to Bing
and wish, oh wish for everything
cause I got Christmas on my side
even if I haven’t sent a card
or put an ornament on my tree.
In the park, bread crumb ladies feed the birds,
sustaining promiscuous pigeons
that play out Darwin’s law. And tears
fill my eyes, the wind kicks my face
and I watch lovers stroll, kisses
exchanged with frost-bitten tongues.
The park, the cold, the freeze,
blessed are the cold for theirs is a
soup kitchen line and a Jesus pamphlet.
In the park, grey snow like a dirty
blanket strewn on the grass, c’mon
Salvation Army make them horns wheeze
change the snow to white and blow me out
of my funk, I don’t mind what the taste
will be, and I’ll pray that the Magi
will perhaps do its thing,
some Christmas magic,
the miracle on Halsted St. or Lake St.
or South Ashland Avenue.
One-legged men can be grand marshals
for the Christmas parade; each bag lady
can wake up with a Gucci bag at her side;
and beat-down winos will find a
Visa Card in their pants pocket.
Okay, Magi, let’s see you do your stuff.
© Copyright Tom Wawzenek 2022