Holiday Cheer

The following is a poem I wrote.  Yes, a poem.  I wrote it exactly five years ago today to commemorate not Thanksgiving, but the day of travel that precedes it.  I’m proud to say that I cranked this puppy out in the first hour of my work day.  It’s amazing what inspiration (re: rage) can do.

It was Thanksgiving Eve
and on Tyler’s commute,
he encountered more people
than ever to shoot.

In fair Jersey City
the trouble began,
thanks to coiled deposits
from those best friends of man.

“I’m a dog lover,” he said,
“I love their bite and their bark–
but pick up their shit;
this ain’t Central Park.”

As he walked to the PATH,
dodging poopie from puppies,
he muttered at Asians,
at Hindus, and yuppies.

Lugging his luggage,
he descended below,
to the train that would take him
where he needed to go.

Surprisingly spacious,
he sighed in relief–
but his respite from trouble
would be shockingly brief.

At Pavonia/Newport,
two girlies got on,
bringing with them some Prada
and Louis Viutton.

Each Indian princess
shuffled and sighed.
There simply wasn’t much room
for them on this ride.

So they shot dirty looks
at the nearest male body.
And that certain young male
was this half-Jewish hottie.

With his bags and wide shoulders,
Tyler took up some space,
and was about to incur
the hot wrath of their race.

Their intention, it seemed,
was to have him just move,
but he had a point
that he needed to prove.

Chivalry isn’t dead,
but please stand corrected:
it’s a courtesy extended,
but should not be expected.

Well, Shiva and Vishnu,
weren’t pleased in the least.
But Tyler’s mind was now on
the impending Cohn feast.

At last in New York,
he rose to the surface
and quickly discovered
a strong brand-new purpose.

“I’ll teach all the people
to walk at a pace
at which they won’t lose
to a snail in a race!”

“Rule Number 1,”
he said in raised voice,
“Know where you’re going.
This is no time for choice!”

“This one’s for the parents,
and it’s Rule Number 2:
don’t walk any slower
than your damn children do.”

“If their legs are too short
or if they have sluggish feet,
take them up in your arms
and get off my damn street.”

“The Champs-Elysees
is great for a stroll,
but this is Midtown New York.
We are fleet-footed souls.”

“Don’t complain that it’s crowded,
that’s Rule Number Three.
You’re the one making it crowded
for people like me.”

“Numero Quattro
is for you fine CEOs:
a note about luggage,
especially those…”

“Those little briefcases
that come with two wheels,
that you drag on the street,
that crash on my heels…”

“If your baggage is smaller
than the handle you hold,
my beating of you
will be ferociously bold.”

“Just hold your damn suitcase
off the ground in your fist
and my thrashing of you
will be narrowly missed.”

Now, don’t think him rude,
or heartless, or vile,
but T-Trooper’s been thinking
this way for a while.

“There are eight million people
in this fabulous town;
but I have ideas
for bringing that number down.”

“If you can’t take the heat,
then get out of the kitchen.
Now get out of my way
and I might stop my bitchin’.”

In closing, my friends,
I wish you safe travels
and hope that your sanity
never unravels.

Because this is the day,
whether in car or in truck,
whether by train or by plane,
that commuting just sucks.

Have a great time tomorrow!
If you’re tired, just think:
“Happy Thanksgiving to all!
Now go get me my drink.”

Enjoy your holidays, everyone!

~ T

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