When shopping lists

for last-minute gifts

cover my calendar

in giant tinseled clots

and stuff my head with

wrapping paper wads,

 

I close my eyes

and let my sore feet

ramble slowly

down Bourbon Street

where the warm lights

burn  all year round

and lampposts like microphones

amplify the sounds

that pave the syncopated street

in the bright surprises of holiday.

 

By the bayou,

there’s no frenzied countdown to Christmas,

just a daily,

jazzy reminder

that you don’t want to miss this

crazy, colorful life.

 

 

 

 

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