by Bob Blackwood
Now it is a plastic Tigger
with a light inside for the kids.
But Diane made real stained glass plaques
which hang on the front door's windows
showing the Magi, the Holy Family
and two shepherds with a white lamb,
A crystallized Presepio.
Instead of chocolate chip cookies
And pounds of buttery powdered goodies,
chocolate and cranberry biscotti
Bake in our stove and perfume the air.
And Diane tells me the truth, and
I am the family grouch and Groucho.
It's as good as it gets, Jack.
The Photographer/Xmas Shopper’s Poem
Oh Lord, that 1988 Escort with the bald tires
Is three feet from my bumper.
I just know its driver has no i.d., no insurance,
Just a notebook from the Chicago Public School System.
“See, I’m a student.”
Don’t hit me, lady; the road is slick.
The whack of plastic on plastic at 5 mph.
The sad tale, the threat of tears.
The only i.d. her name on a Mary Kay Cosmetics envelope.
Searching for a payphone in an ice storm
One that works, damnit!
And then the cop drives by and tells us,
“Go to the station.”
Why me, Oh Lord?
Why not you, Mr. Citizen?
The problems of Mexico are in your backyard,
Up your bumper, in your face.
“Why did you take my picture?
It’s a violation of my human rights?”
What else am I to do? No license, no insurance.
Smile, and get ready for the people at State Farm.
Better them, than the Mexican federal police
on a lonely country road south of Mexico City.
At worst, you get a lecture from the cops;
I get three weeks at the chiropractor.
Merry Christmas, Felice Navidad,
yo’mama, yo’mama, yo’mama, yo!
COPYRIGHT ROBERT BLACKWOOD, NOV.
By Bob Blackwood
It floats down upon the middle gray sidewalks
Dark splotches, like blood, but more of them,
Turning from crystals to liquid,
Covering the grime and oil for awhile
Until the blackness dirties the white veil.
Still falling, into the darkness of the night,
Building up next to the tires of Range Rovers in Lincoln Park,
The housepainted white vans of Polish immigrants in Portage Park,
And the holy Chevys with chains through the hood
To keep the battery thieves away in Bucktown.
Keep holy the Lord’s Day;
Don’t slip on that black ice.
It’s Christmas in Chicago,
And isn’t that so nice?
2001 by Bob Blackwood
Christmas 2005 photo card: Bob & Diane church directory photo, at Kennedy Space Center and visiting the U-505 submarine exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry.
Merry Christmas 2005
by Bob Blackwood
know it will be a Merry Christmas
the wasps build a nest in your soffit in November,
the TV News tells of deaths east of
You know it will be a Happy New Year
When your cat condescends to scratch you for
When your ex-students are more excited to
than your relatives.
Peace on Earth; good grief to all;
Please permit the priests to marry, Pope;
Out of the closet and into the chapels, your
The price of petroleum rises each summer,
A potato travels 500 miles to market, mama.
Accolades to the oil companies, who keep us
from sustainable energy.
Say your prayers around sunset;
Hope for love before sunrise.
copyright 2005 Bob Blackwood
Diane, Bob and Bob's daughter Monica and her husband
Tom at Benihana restaurant on Diane's birthday
Cirque Du Soleil in Las Vegas visiting Nick and Therese
Mobster Bob and his friend Gossamer at Windycon