Noël Noël
The Casios and Korgs are at it again.
Mounted like gunners atop the Metro ramps,
their six-inch speakers―preprogrammed to bleat,
blast forth that timeless rhumba standard
God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen, or everyone’s
sensual samba classic The First Noël
until I half-expect McPherson Square’s
commuterized zombies to suddenly burst awake―
a troupe of Wintertoyland girls and boys,
a Nutcracker Parade snake-dancing up
14th as the falling snow’s aerial lens
pans their clockworklike melee―
now a top-coated conga line gyrating down
K to turn on a dime at Connecticut,
flowing scarves and other fine accessories
from Saks―or Macy’s
flying wantonly akimbo.
