Whatever Holiday

Someone’s in the street
with an uncased acoustic guitar
slung behind them on clothesline,
and a strap of sleigh bells tied
on their belt.

I see they also have
a mutty, cold dog
trailing behind.

The wind chill is below
hell’s lowest circles, and
it’s threatening to snow;
I think maybe the troubadour 
is in danger, the dog might
freeze, and I know damn well
this is no weather for
an uncased acoustic guitar
(I’m guessing the sleigh bells
will be fine),

yet the damn fool is whistling
the type of song
you won’t recognize until
spring, at which point you will slap
your forehead and say

oh, damn, now I get it.

Oh, damn, now I get it — 
it’s a song that works
like a heater inside them
even as the individual notes emerge
and chime as they freeze
and hit the ground. The dog
keeps up on its own, the guitar is
superfluous; today is 
as perfect as any beach day,

with the string of bells
ringing out 

for whatever holiday
this has just become.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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