Christmas Night, Tyler Street

The street went gray outside while we cooked
and then blue and black and purple and dark,
but around the edges, the ambiance cracked,
unfairly lit by Christmas trees
keeping vigil behind curtained windows
and each marking tense and pretending families,
so that the street lights looked sick
with forgotten love and near-dying faith.

And now the immobile urgency of a cat
sleeping in my lap - trapping me to my seat
with the tree and the tv glowing but silent,
with this pen and this crossword,
and the little white space aside
that for these marks must have been custom made -
unwinds the boredom and begins to lift
the gray fogs of an endless month.