Monday, December 5, 2011


they carol in the silver star bar
a band of miscreants with hooded eyes
distended bellies and shady memories
of their days of youth during christmas

the jukebox plays the same old songs
bing crosby, brenda lee, and burl ives
and drunken comrades falsely praise the christ child
as they steal change off the dirty counter
and call their wives with tales of woe

they plod through the snow when they've had their fill
or their money runs out
and remember better days
yes, there were always better days in their sodden minds
and hopes for better futures
for they know there is no better present

but there is always christmas time
when everyone is still a child
no matter how evil
no matter how ill
no matter for the life or death of them
because it has always been this way
so, why buck tradition?

the silver star has always been there
standing city proud for some 80 years
grandpa drank there
dad drank there
so he drinks there as well
the circle will not be broken
not in this generation

he stumbles up the stairs
and slams the door to welcome himself home
and his family cringes
in squalor and fear
as he squints at the cockeyed christmas tree
a skeleton of a tree with home made decorations

and he has a twinkle in his eye
as he pours himself a shot
and asks where his dinner is
and they almost trust him
as he sits at the old table
and she slams the plate in front of him

cold is the food
cold is the apartment
cold is the reception
cold is the noel
and he watches the snow
as it falls outside his windows
and celebrates another silent night

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