Because we all want to write more poems.
Christmas Tree Lighting, Bellingham, Washington, 2016
In the rain we stand with the rest,
Going through the motions of
Empty ritual and forced meaning
Children, anticipating some sort of
Epiphany, sit on fathers' shoulders,
Hold mothers' hands, and watch
The mayor speaks, "I'll keep it short,"
Her standard blessing. And then the
Flipping of the switch, or plugging in of the
cord to the socket. I couldn't see.
Somehow, the making of
A connection, power to light.
We're cold and wet, we've patiently waited,
The lights are lit and, en masse, the crowd
Disperses. If you look up "anticlimactic" in
The dictionary, you will find a photo
of this event. As we head to our car, my sweetie
Gives me her review, "Too much white."
She was talking about the tree lights but
She could easily have meant the crowd.
- Neil McKay's Shared Poems
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