At all the white windows
Breathy panes
Painted with winter
The frost fringe
Of glass doors spilling
Warm air and cold stares
Into the streets as people,
For once, for a day,
Pretend to care
About whose eyes they meet.
The vagabonds and vagrants
Panhandle and hustle,
Looking for change to make
Merry Christmas calls
To family's far away,
Their aunt in Atlanta.
Their dead and buried grandma.
As they settle in little
Scorched spoon dens
To let the warmth slide in.
We're all alone and not together
My family and my friends,
We drink sidled up to screens
Or half asleep in empty clubs
Waiting for the season to show
Us mercy, to just end.
All the little lights, Red, Blue
And green, just remind us
We're the one burnt and unlit,
Left dark and lone
Dead on the string.
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