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.