Upon Us Again, The Holidays Are Dead

Here come ‘dem holidays again. Making Sam and Ben happy when you spend. First comes the big feast. Over stuffed beast shoved passed the teeth. When it’s all over sit with a huge drink. Plop ourselves the legs are up. Listening to a beat out  of a box. There it be between the feet. Don’t you wish you had a box seat?

Later comes the Friday in black. All the merchants are glad to too see it back. People shop here, they shop over there, any shop everywhere. So much traffic goes ‘round and ‘round. Ol’ Ben now wears a happy gold crown. Going on for more than three weeks. Make a head spin until the peak. Oh how all is so clean even nature has a commercial gleam.

Mothers and fathers with daughters and son’s. But this day comes mostly for little ones. A day the credo’s supposedly for all. Better to give to that of receiving at all. But in the end everyone receiving gives their all. Little ones scamper to a tree trimmed and gleaming. (The origins of which are known to us). To open up their little giving’s of tidings and joy.

We bask in happiness of the joyfulness of what a gift brings for all.

Scrambling to unwrap their scribbled on names. Next comes the cleanup than followed by a great feast. Equaled too that  of the one before the shopping black day. Then they get up and walk from the hall. Satisfied and had their fill. Go and sit back to relax. Watching that box from between the feet. When the day has gone and night falls without a sound. We all head to sleep snuggled within our beds. Dreaming dreams of sleighs, bells and dancing fire light. We look for another wonderful year ahead.

Wait! Has something been forgotten? No not a something but a someone. These are the ones, you know you like to forget, asking for money and receive many chides. They walk a beat seeking something to eat. Their unwrapped gift is perhaps a meal at a shelter. Where when a new dawning of day. These forgotten are shuffled away. The gift that keeps on giving to those who receive it daily.

So isn’t giving wonderful and fulfilling. Would you rather read more of the ones with holes in their knees, asleep under trees in the street.

Now most just do what others do. Sweep them aside to the gutter without a clue. Not out of sight but out of their minds. Going through the new year as blissful like those who sit in front of a tube. After all isn’t there place and others that take care of them, they say.

There is no moral or happiness for these people of a city street. They’re not going away just become invisible like someone annoying in the backseat. Only thing that will happen come this time next year. People shuffling around them some out of fear. Their numbers shall grow so what shall we do. Would you hide in the sand or become a leader of a whole new band.

A gift for another is happiness. A gift, from our hands.

Sheilah Say

11.18.2011 Revised 11.09.2013