'Twas the Night

‘Tis the night before Christmas—but the tales I contest
For I find that on Christmas Eve there is no rest
My mom just put up our fake tree, for Pete’s sake
And I guarantee the thing won’t come down ‘til spring break
Our "green Christmas" is brown and appallingly mild
And the insane little foster kid is driving us wild
Not a soul can catch Remy, much less try to mind him
As he flies through the party, leaving chaos behind him
My dog keeps on barking as people show up
And nobody keeps track of their red plastic cup
I hope my sheriff uncle doesn’t wander up here
Because I think Jeff just shot one of Santa’s reindeer
Later, when the adults chatsy amongst themselves,
I think that we young ones will hunt down some elves
In our warm living room, a fire blazes away
And nobody’s hungry—we’ve been “grazing” all day
The boys ran out to rent movies, though any fool knows
That come Christmas Eve, the stores are all closed
They raced through the rain, got there five minutes late
But they missed out on sympathy, ‘cause we thought it was great
What a warped senses of humor—only Alex would try
And induce my poor mommy to watch “Family Guy”
The party would have lasted a bit longer, I suppose
If Remy hadn’t gone streaking, after shedding his clothes
So ‘tis the night before Christmas, with my strange family
Yet I know that I love them, and that they love me

Curbside

Curbside.
The growl of cars rolling by within arm’s reach, taking seconds of rap music, country, rock and roll with them. None stay long enough to compete with the old harmonica man across from me. Blues belted out from under a crazy tilted hat, cracked lips singing under closed eyes. People yelling from the river races provide background with bells from the playground, splash and dash of fountains, peals from wind chimes. Shrill gossip from old women enjoying the sun, sudden chime of a shop door bell announcing entry, faint scuff of cats feet on the railing far above. The quick tapping of little feet in time with giggles from an escaping toddler, joyful with five seconds of freedom.
Street music’s not like any other music, laid together with steady pressure like palms of hands or notes chasing each other like children. It’s insistent beat, a chin-up and rush of skateboard wheels and casual talk and walk. I should get up and join in, dance on the sidewalk, add my own bit of rhythm to the city. But the sun is warm here, and as I hesitate, faintly my heartbeat sounds in my ears, adding its own, unique unfaltering pulse to the music.
So I smile, and settle back on curbside, just another beat on the street.

God Help Me

The rain is falling down darkly
Sliding down to mingle with the salt on my face
Soundlessly falling to the ground so far below
Eyes staring sightlessly
Reflecting under their surface
The wet black emptiness of the dark
Water trailing cold fingers down
The back of my neck
I wish my heart was as icy
Instead of this burning and twisting wreck
Clenching as painfully as my fingers
Twisted together as if they were one
The only thing I have to hold on to now
Finally my arms are no longer enough
My will is not strong enough
To contain the pain inside
Passing what I can stand and passing it again
And again and again
Until I break
Into a thousand pieces and now
Cracking a little more as each cry escapes
Shoulders shaking in the effort
To be invisible
Here alone, with only the cold, wet wind
To wrap around me
I may be silent now but I'm still screaming
A desperate cry for help
That echoes but never gets an answer back
And through the bewilderment my mind whispers
When will this be over
And what will I be
God help me