TAVERN HOURS
Christmas retreats through January slush –
the tale got told, its body departed,
the season’s melt commenced again
its downhill journey to where it will.
Here in the aftermath I slip into the pub:
late-night piano, noble snare, upright bass,
drink orders launched from every corner.
Under soft filaments we keep a sidelong alertness
to what we heard last month, something about something
skyward moving everyone’s way, deny it all you want.
Yes tonight feels lighter, the light lengthening.
Despite solstice fatigue, a fondness wells up,
an urge to linger, hard to shake, in December’s wake,
deny it all you want. “A round for everyone!”
I always wanted to shout, and this time I do.
© copyright 2023 Ray Waddle
SLAM THE BRAKES
Already in mid-October the couple across the street
are setting up the front yard – the latest spinning Santa,
dog elves pulling holy family on team USA sleigh,
gortex snowman bewildered on the evergreen grass.
Gently they get it all propped up and plugged in,
so the holiday can blanket us with its calming courtesy,
the kind it takes to go to this outdoor trouble.
What still circles the earth from long ago always lands
in velvet reds come winter, this curbside misrule
hauled out of stone nativity deeps once more.
Now it’s midsummer and the yard scene’s still in place,
blistered in July heat, sagging to one side, and anyone
driving by has good reason to slam the brakes and
take issue with this heedless theological disarray.
Nobody’s going to do that.
© copyright 2023 Ray Waddle
A MIND OF ITS OWN
I’m sitting watching morning sun
throwing its light down in one wide bolt
warming the waking greens and blues
this my mighty attempt first time ever
to land nowhere but right here
and own up to my space
in the spillage and spread
the sputter and fail of oxygen levels
my every excuse and delay
a contrail of sulfur and debris
There are people to serve assist invite
and the fury of the news is mounting
if I turn even an inch
but the winter air the known universe
the unknown too with a mind of its own
these are mounting also
their gaze abiding my neglect
taking note of the ruin I contribute
and they are awaiting presently
everybody’s next move and decision
mine too for or against
© copyright 2023 Ray Waddle