POEM: late at night, from a cold sidewalk

"Nighthawks" by Edward Hopper
“Nighthawks” by Edward Hopper

late at night, from a cold sidewalk

through the window of a crowded bar
laughers crammed shoulder to shoulder
a hand in the back pocket of a lover’s jeans
a man’s face as he sets a scene for a friend

everybody belongs exactly where they are
the night gets a few degrees colder
it’s not entirely clear what this means
or whether everything is nearing the end

the distance between is a pane of glass, not far
but looking through it makes him feel older
he’s more a fan of Edward Hopper’s scenes
at least while his spirit is on the mend

/ / /

Jason Crane
11 February 2015
Oak Street

POEM: Christmas Eve, 2013

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Christmas Eve, 2013

I’m sitting in my apartment, one lamp on,
watching old episodes of Doctor Who, from
the first year they made it in color. There’s
nobody here but me, because the boys are
at their grandmother’s house, and I’m not
allowed past the front door. And not even
that far, if she has her druthers. They’ll be
here soon, though, to take me to their house,
where we’ll play some games and wait
for the arrival of Santa Claus, in whom one
believes and one doesn’t. If you’d told me ten,
or even five, years ago that this year I’d be
cut off from my entire family (except for my
sister) and living alone in my least favorite place
on Earth, I’d have hoped you weren’t clairvoyant.
And although I’m much better at staying
in the moment than I used to be, there are some
moments you hope pass quickly. Still,
later tonight I’ll get to tuck my sons in,
pet their dog, lay my head down on a real bed.
And in the morning they’ll open their gifts,
we’ll laugh and we’ll hug. That’s what I’m waiting for,
as the clock ticks away the minutes on Christmas Eve.

24 December 2013
Oak Street