When I ambled into Meng’s <br />the place was packed even though <br />this was Christmas day. <br />Well, not every soul in Brooklyn <br />had a place to celebrate the holiday, <br />thus Meng’s flourished as refuge. <br />“Bernstein, here, ” said Joe Lutz. <br />“Greetings, ” I cheerfully proclaimed <br />but Joe’s drunken breath told another tale <br />as he sobbed, “My old man <br />killed himself on Christmas day <br />and after that things was never the same <br />mother went nuts <br />loved my father so <br />and after that I never got a present. <br />She tried to raise us kids but couldn’t. <br />Then one boyfriend after the other <br />in the house and doing things with her. <br />The worst was a stranger on Christmas day <br />and my mother always made sure <br />to have a body on Christmas day. <br />Never a real tree, year after year <br />a tiny plastic thing maybe a foot high <br />without lights.” <br />Just then Treasure showed up <br />sat smiled said, <br />“Merry Christmas.” <br />Joe silent staring <br />perhaps a tear couldn’t tell head down. <br />“That OK to say to a Jewish man, ” she asked me. <br />“Sure.” <br />“And it’s gonna snow know you love snow.” <br />“Yes.” <br />Treasure silent, staring at Joe <br />now at me asking, “What’s with Lutz? ” <br />“Father killed himself on Christmas day.” <br />“So.” <br />“Never been the same.” <br />“So.” <br />“You know, couldn’t handle it, the pain.” <br />“Then he’ll suffer, ” Treasure said calmly <br />as Lutz blinked, then gulped, blinked again <br />still silent, waiting, wanting <br />time to shift, somehow turn or bend or break <br />but Treasure’s implacable eyes <br />would not let that happen <br />so again: “Merry Christmas.”<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-day-2/
