the streets are quiet
and empty of folks.
Some are inside cooking
as night comes along,
with pine trees a riot
of colored lights.
Men sit around, tell jokes;
the kids already looking
at shiny piles of presents
they can't open until morn.
You may hear a mother
singing a song
about Christmas, and another
voice joins in, darkness falls,
a sense of peace drapes
this middle-class neighborhood.
Some people talk about the child
who was born, long ago, far away
from this Yuletide day,
in this land at war,
and they watch each other's
faces as they question, what for,
and why the world
can't live in peace
and folks get along.
Then someone sings a song
about a manger and kings
or silent night, and things
settle back into comfort.
That's what it looks like
as I write... .
It's a good night.

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