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by Kevin T. McEneaney
Tue Dec 18th, 2018

That year it was a jazzy Christmas thing:

bebop in glass, iced sax, funk on the rug,

room vibrating like bell on slant hillside,

parquet floor bouncing like a white rabbit

while wigged-out flakes flounced, flocked to high ground.


Fireplace fatigue was replaced by weed

wreathing nosegay and wiseguy, so she said

to doctor of rhythm taking her pulse

as lights merry smashed kaleidoscopely

on the empty boulevard drained of cash.


And Christ massively there in heartbeat

of ecstatic drumbeat, flipping out cheer

like cherries and brandy to horns divine:

trumpet quake, piano glide, hopped-up bass.