Christmas Poem
I can smell her perfume; how absurd it seems to be,
A floral fragrance in the freezing air
Soon lost in the gloom, whipped away unthinkingly
By the wind collecting winter's fare
She fixes up the Yule display outside the hardware store
While pigeons in the rafters mourn the light
They coo into the cold, beseeching nothing more
Than enough sleep to make it through the night
She smiles as I step past her, and past the yellow glow
Of a plastic nativity (there's still no room at the inn)
Mary's face is alabaster; unflinching, white, and so
I wonder if the clerk's means more than Mary's grin;
A minimum wage mask and a paint-on-plastic gaze
Both have their Christmas uses, though practiced and polite
For who would spend money on Christmass-produced displays
That didn't offer comfort through the night?
By the ornaments I find a little snowman much too cute
To have to spend its Christmas on a shelf
The radio brings to mind an ideal life would refute
But I hum along, happy to spite myself
I kill a few more minutes before lining up to pay,
Then the snowman and I go the face the bite
Of a hungry wind; two more shadows on their way
To find some sort of passage through the night
The traffic slows on Pender, and cars' exhaust glows red
As it coils and writhes its way right out of being
Such simple surrender to the chill, the freezing dread,
As if the world has nothing left worth seeing
I take stiff steps to the mall, in hopes that I might find
Some more cheerful fare to hold my sight
If there's no room at the inn, Mary and mankind
Can let the neon guide them through the night
There's a large bin and a sign set up by the main doors
Requesting blankets and scarves for the needy
"The gift of warmth" is fine, though I reckon the line bores
Those hurrying through the gates of the greedy
Is warmth a gift? I want to see it as a victory;
Our own likeness carved out from the tight
Clutch of ice around us, a contradictory
Contrivance to make it through the night
Inside, a North Pole set is closed up for the day;
Santa's gone home to his doting wife
They've seen centuries, I bet, that they don't count or weigh,
While I play roulette with my mortal life
I head to the food court, courting a bite to eat;
Twenty hours can stoke an appetite
I think of being young, when fast food was a treat,
Let simple pleasures warm me through the night
When the mall closes at ten, I leave the cheerful din,
Cast out as if there's no room at the stable
I weigh my options, then check in at the cheapest inn
And put my snowman on the bedside table
I curl up into sheets that feel as cold as stone
I know in time I'll warm them up all right
I stare into the darkness and hope you're not alone;
Do what you must to make it through the night
A floral fragrance in the freezing air
Soon lost in the gloom, whipped away unthinkingly
By the wind collecting winter's fare
She fixes up the Yule display outside the hardware store
While pigeons in the rafters mourn the light
They coo into the cold, beseeching nothing more
Than enough sleep to make it through the night
She smiles as I step past her, and past the yellow glow
Of a plastic nativity (there's still no room at the inn)
Mary's face is alabaster; unflinching, white, and so
I wonder if the clerk's means more than Mary's grin;
A minimum wage mask and a paint-on-plastic gaze
Both have their Christmas uses, though practiced and polite
For who would spend money on Christmass-produced displays
That didn't offer comfort through the night?
By the ornaments I find a little snowman much too cute
To have to spend its Christmas on a shelf
The radio brings to mind an ideal life would refute
But I hum along, happy to spite myself
I kill a few more minutes before lining up to pay,
Then the snowman and I go the face the bite
Of a hungry wind; two more shadows on their way
To find some sort of passage through the night
The traffic slows on Pender, and cars' exhaust glows red
As it coils and writhes its way right out of being
Such simple surrender to the chill, the freezing dread,
As if the world has nothing left worth seeing
I take stiff steps to the mall, in hopes that I might find
Some more cheerful fare to hold my sight
If there's no room at the inn, Mary and mankind
Can let the neon guide them through the night
There's a large bin and a sign set up by the main doors
Requesting blankets and scarves for the needy
"The gift of warmth" is fine, though I reckon the line bores
Those hurrying through the gates of the greedy
Is warmth a gift? I want to see it as a victory;
Our own likeness carved out from the tight
Clutch of ice around us, a contradictory
Contrivance to make it through the night
Inside, a North Pole set is closed up for the day;
Santa's gone home to his doting wife
They've seen centuries, I bet, that they don't count or weigh,
While I play roulette with my mortal life
I head to the food court, courting a bite to eat;
Twenty hours can stoke an appetite
I think of being young, when fast food was a treat,
Let simple pleasures warm me through the night
When the mall closes at ten, I leave the cheerful din,
Cast out as if there's no room at the stable
I weigh my options, then check in at the cheapest inn
And put my snowman on the bedside table
I curl up into sheets that feel as cold as stone
I know in time I'll warm them up all right
I stare into the darkness and hope you're not alone;
Do what you must to make it through the night