Photo by Adam Nieścioruk on Unsplash

Wednesday, December 11, 2019

It was the last December of our previous decade.

2009 where were you?

A December to remember who cried each night.

Wishing upon a star after poking through creations.

In between a nail biting fourth quarter.

2000, Stoudamire Christmas day.

No, apologies my mind went too far.

But Sheed’ had 33.

Damon had 27.

Next Wednesday I’ll be 33.

Another holiday season to write over.

Watch the colours of Christmas as they shine.

Maybe put up the lights she was so excited to hang.

A Christmas village because my mom too loved those ornament thangs…

A stupid Christmas sweater party and show up tardy.

Beyonce’ wouldn’t show up to her own ugly sweater party.

Then New Years for the young adults to hijack their kidneys.

Back to work, walking back to class, or whatever it is that pays your skills.

This holiday we await the vibrations.

Red for Rudolph,

Green for Grinch.

Yellow for that watered down Gelo.

White, for in Portland, the snow we act like we can’t handle.

Santa Clause might call it quits.

Have you seen the hearings for impeachment?

I haven’t.

But the headlines remind me we’ve seen this;

We’ll see it again likely in my lifetime.

Another liar is out there waiting to lead.

Another holiday is out there to celebrate if you believe.

If you understand some spaces don’t vibrate.

Some are year around cycles of stuff.

Alone, with you, and alone again.

This is what the lonely will do this year.

Desire a Santa.

Drink Vodka and Fanta.

Rejoice over the new decade.

For the last we wanted nothing to do with it.

Beginning an end at a town I’ll write truth about this.

I don’t know where the holidays are going, but like this poem,

I leave it up to the people as the ending’s confusing.

Just watch and I’ll write another holiday poem to follow up.

I say ‘I’ as if I’ve met the writer who concludes with this.

This is me writing into my holiday bliss.

-Budd