To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
CHRISTMAS PRIDE It comes but once a year: that night the lonely dread being alone. Christmas Eve three decades past found me melding with winter weather, letting it freeze me inside and out. Coldly alone for the holidays, down on my friendless luck with no give, gratitude, nor Christmas pride. A light of cinematic blue spilled over my surrender, catching my eye with magnetic force. A tiny tavern whispered warmth, calling irresistibly to me, I obeyed. The light source came from tired and almost used up neon lights, whose ballisters hummed bits of antique Christmas carols for those who could still remember them. I immediately bellied up to the bar hungering for rye, thirsting for water, and wishing for beer; with a wink the bartender brought all three. On the stool to my left in full regalia sat a sad weeping Santa Claus: he had just finished a sixteen hour shift at some mall, tears, like summer rains cascaded off his cheeks. I remember thinking well there’s salt in your beer but it’s painful watching wounds bleed and big men cry. It hurt more when Santa spoke, crying his plight for all who’d hear, a future of clouds and darkest doom. “Children today ask for more and more making my burden too much to be borne. This year not one child made a Christmas wish for anyone but himself. After all these years of Christmas Eves, I’ll ride my sleigh no more.” “My magic only works if one child asks or wishes something for someone else. This year that wish did not come, my magic is all but gone.” Santa went back to his sobbing when the man on my right said “You still have an hour left before Christmas Day, oh ye of little faith.” I faced this man and shook a rough and calloused hand. He said his name was Jesus, I asked if he was Hispanic, he said “No I am a Jewish stone mason whose works are world-wide.” I asked “ Hey Zeus, what are you drinking?” He answered “ Bread and water are all I need, and you can call me Lord.” At that very moment the door opened and one of the many homeless people common to that part of town came in from the freeze. She was but a child of eight or nine with the dirty face and hard eyes only older folks have. A faint twinkle sparkled in her eyes when she saw Santa, she walked up to him and tugged on his sleeve. “Santa, are you crying?” she asked. Is it too late to ask for something?” His monotone response was a lifeless faithless and defeated “Yes.” She insisted “But Santa there is still one half-hour until Christmas and my mother is outside with no coat. I want to ask for a warm coat for my mother. The shelter people gave me mine, but they didn’t have one for her and she is very very cold.” Santa’s salty waterfall started again. (as did everyone’s) Smiling through his tears he told her to go get her mom and handed her all the pay he had earned from his torturous mall-shift. She did come back with her mother, Mary; Hey Zeus Lord stood up and wrapped Mary in his cloak saying she’d never be cold again. He then fed everyone full of fish and truth, bread and kindness, washed down with holy water. Santa said he had work to do, Lord said the same adding “ I’m always around if anyone should ever need me.” I stayed at the tavern sipping cider amidst warmth and privilege and many smiling strangers. You could say a little beggar child saved Christmas and Santa that year; (Santa still makes his annual appearance) or you could say it was all a dream. I know the truth, and a couple weeks later I returned to that tavern, only to find it closed and boarded up. As I was peeking through a window a security guard pulled up and asked me what I wanted. I told him of that wondrous night just one fortnight earlier. “Impossible!” he resounded “this bar has been closed for five years! Now get the hell out of here and don’t come back!” I walked away with a bandits grin, for though I still had no give, I was full of gratitude and Christmas pride, amen. |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!