the kids squeal and run off to the tree

it is quite beautiful –
i detach my lens and assume this is when it’s going to go out
right when i decide to leave

right when i turn my back to walk out
the glow will snap shut
the reflections in the store windows will vanish
and the kids will audibly groan, but we just got here

but it never does

i eventually give up,
defeated by boredom, by cold,
by power,
an incorrectly set timer, defeated by
city government, the parks department
turning on me at last! et tu!
by bureaucracy
failing to do the simplest task
of turning off the lights when the park closes
or worse, deciding to leave it on!

for who?

apparently for these two kids, age 6 or 7 ish
who come barreling into the park just as i am packing up
with their
tiny mother trailing, curious about my camera
curious about me bent sad over it
in the shadow of the tree, the unvanquished tree,
christmas, undefeated still!

on my way home i stop by the small park by the subway
to shoot some b roll
of the christmas tree the city put up

there are some feral cats about
darting in and out of the hedges
casting disorienting shadows as they go

waiting to get a shot of the lights going out
they’re supposed to go out at 9

but it’s now approaching 9:05 and i’m
still waiting for this shot, who knows why

i don’t even know what point i’d be trying to make
i’m not trying to be dramatic, or negative,
it just seemed like a cool image
or whatever the 4D version of an image is,
a sequence of images, depicting some change

lockdown christmas isn’t out
and about, but in the windows
above, a present peeking out
from a tear in the wrapping

i scan the rite aid shelves
for things we may need

lockdown christmas
indeed, in the makeshift alleyway
of plastic nets
and rows of trees
and the bitter wind
don’t fight it

i can always find myself out to sea
on a night like this, if i like

my gaze is straight ahead
but everything else is free
to do as it please

lockdown christmas was just an idea
caught in a draft
from one mountain to another
like all others

tonight of all nights
the moon continues its waning
but we’re not the only ones
under that impression

outside for a quiet walk
the black night is managed
with brute force

the slap of workers stacking pallets
echoes, turns heads