christmas eve

a window seat and a stretch
of cracked road below. christmas eve
and a bell boy shuffling bags.
two men cross the street to the bus
stop, wait a few minutes and one parts
ways. their hands slid like in shadows
before one turned and walked off, towards
the park. the one left was bearded and stubby
with an cleft in his chin. sunglasses
and a green beenie, most likely crocheted
by his mother who is either dead or wondering
what her son is doing at that moment.
up the street a store open until 6, the
wine aisle most crowded-- a chardonnay for
2 dollars and 63 cents. a tired check-out
worker who doesn't want to be at work, who
should be at her post-modern apartment with her
post-modern girlfriend making a vegan feast for their
post-modern friends. a quick exchange is made
under florescent lights beating the last
leg of life out of anyone who stands beneath it
for too long. a fortunate escape, two electric doors
slide open and a cold slap to the face. a
woman rushes passed clutching her scarf
to her neck and her bag to her waist. her heel
slips beneath her but she catches the rail before
making a scene. a hotel with an ugly front desk girl
who has the cork screw and nothing to do with her
time. a staircase to a hallway to a room. a room with a
window overlooking the street below. the cold,
hard, street below.