DECEMBER POETS

We are December poets
with lyrical skill,
take cover
under the windowpane's chill
on a rain or snow day
it's the end of the year,
as some of us hibernate
like a musical bear
or play classical or jazz
with harmony or care
in this starry animated time
as my violin sways
to the Tartini's sonata in D
"The Devil's Trill"
giving out a mystery
of great dexterity,
complexity and difficulty;
speaking of the Devil,
suddenly at my hallway
is my poet friend Kyle
comes to visit,
who always calls me
''Shakespeare"
a ragtime musician
who plays drum
in ragtime with his chops
even with an injured thumb
from his last trip to Calcutta
which left him
taking ear drops
for his present condition
and under the weather too
from India's long jet lag,
he works at a camera shop
and brings a smiling photo
of all us in his small grab bag
taken at his sister Lydia's
spring wedding
looking like the bride
at a Cana portrait by Titian,
as she walks down the aisle
with a bouquet of flowers
to receive her ring
where we all played music
until the dawn hours
in our jazz celebration
reliving our first audition
in this zig zag world of ours.