Page One

Lights are strung around the trunks 

of the trees along the Gourmet Ghetto 

like luminous egg sacs  

from giant insects 

or like clusters of tiny pieces 

from a shattered full moon. 

I think this was done 

to remind you when you’re here 

that you’re NOT in the ghetto. 

I think about my friend who 

like the rest of the country 

is declaring bankruptcy. 

And I think about another friend 

whose father 

had a stroke 

and died 

a couple weeks ago. 

This Christmas 

I’ll stay with my father  

in the semi-desert of 

the Inland Empire 

of Southern California 

(whose denizens deny 

they live in a semi-desert). 

No one knows 

how much longer 

he’ll be alive. 

Although the man himself 

has a rough guess 

that no one wants to accept. 

He is ready to give away 

the things he’s accumulated 

for decades; 

the old love letters 

between him and my mom  

written during World War II 

when he was in the Pacific. 

They are stashed in a box and 

stored in the closet. 

He can’t remember where. 

We’ll visit my brother 

and his children 

and their children. 

We don’t know one another 

we never will 

but we’ll act like we’re best friends  

for three or four hours 

on Christmas day. 

At work  

the Christmas Party Committee 

is passing around 

the list of assignments 

for the pot luck and 

gift exchange. 

They’ve been meeting 

for a couple of months 

working on strategy— 

trying to reach a consensus 

on what type of food to offer. 

Everyone is expected 

to go to the party. 

Otherwise 

you’ll get a big “X” 

on the “Needs Improvement” column 

in the “Interpersonal Skills” section 

of your next performance evaluation. 

On the way to lunch 

I pass “Magic Fingers Massage Therapy”  

and a homeless man  

pushing his shopping cart 

like a plow 

hauling a giant black balloon 

containing cans and bottles that rattle 

like a drunk orchestra rehearsing 

as he labors up the street. 

At the café I go to 

“The Battle of Algiers” 

is projected on the wall inside. 

The young man who takes my order 

says it’s his favorite movie. 

There’s no sound but  

I can read the subtitles 

just fine. 

I hear the people around me 

say 

it’s colder  

than last year 

much, much colder 

and it’s getting darker  

earlier.