Christmas Eve, Somewhere In Texas
Lit Up’s Christmas Event
Scattered families made plans from diner booths.
The couple to our back (I could hear but not see),
took cell phone calls, “We’ll be there tomorrow”
but eavesdropping we could not say where.
A man wearing reflective yellow, a coat that said
the weather was colder than it was,
typed messages with his thumbs and barely noticed
as a waitress waited to take his order.
We ate smothered burgers while bacon grease
and American cheese dripped in our hands.
You asked about traditions; I tried to choke
down spicy fries, maybe manage an answer;
I looked out the diner window where the light
inside a green wreath darkened (or burned out).
It hung on a dull grey light pole, and beneath it
a solitary man walked toward the Methodist church,
hands in the pockets of a fleece that made the world
seem colder than fifty — and as he walked
an ambulance siren pealed. It’s angelic pale figure
floated past our window heading the other way.
