Goodness, not what we’ve expected here at this roadside barbecue.
A surprise, not so much the old bearded man flipping the burgers.
Nor reindeer playing reindeer games. But Mrs. Claus is a soprano.
She sings White Christmas and other snowy things in sun’s heat.
How lovely it bellows, her musical dream, as if the future is now,
as if now goes through here, a united getaway on a shared journey.
Her melody lofts over the smoking ribs, the corn on the cobb,
and watermelon too. And she sings in tune perfectly. Seems
all seasons, always now, a flawless time for such wintry reverie.
Might have to join her and sing our cowboy dreams right along.
Now it’s Silver Bells and we’re ringing in the peaceful twilight,
ever cool, and tossing horse shoes as well. With the affable elves.
Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications. His website is www.JoeBisicchia.com.