Christmastime in Dublin, from poetry with a small p.
- The Christmas lights
are up in the city
and the pavement is glittering.
All seems well in the world.
I am waiting for my bus
at the edge of the river,
not staring in, but shivering
for the want of warmth.
On evenings like this,
when the wind
cuts up the Liffey channel,
the rain, piercing cold,
forces us to fold
in upon ourselves.
With hats, scarves and
hoods pulled tight;
only our eyes exposed.
The thin seasonal songs
carry over rooftops
from full florescent shops
and drop lightly, chimes,
over the darkened quay.
To avoid the pokes
from spokes of umbrellas,
I bat them away
as I begin to jockey
for position in the queue.
My bus arrives.
We file quietly on,
struggle to loosen
and shed our outer clothing,
then, sink into our seats.
I lean my forehead
against the window
and watch through
twinkling raindrops
as the…
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The Writings of William C. Pennington 
Wishing you and yours the very best, Will.
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Thank you! A very Merry Christmas to you and yours too. Thanks for all the great posts.
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My pleasure.
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