Photography © Edward S. Gault

 

Chattanooga Black and White Christmas Eve

Chattanooga black and white Christmas Eve
Waffle House amber beacon
cheap eats and free grease.

Cars at the Exxon station drinking dinosaurs
to take them back to the safety of
westbound northbound southbound highway,
away from down and out denizens circling the door,
away from Ole Boy and Toothless Friend.

“How you doin’ sir?”

I say, “I’m all right. How’re you, brother?”

“Now, I’m not gonna’ try to hit you up hard
for spare change or nothin’.”

“That’s all right. I hear you.”

The look when eyes meet
and I clasp his hand,
like back-in-the-day soul shake,
an old white man and an old black man
standing in swirling snow
in seconds of silence, surprise
and soft, pleading eyes.

“Can you buy me a dollar beer?”

“Sure thing” brings a smile,

“It’s Christmas, my friend.”

Puny dollar beers
don’t feel too festive,
so I float along until I find
a worthy yuletide quart.

“Merry Christmas. I got you a beer.”

Another clasping of hands,
a hug for Toothless Friend,
and tears fall from his sorrow,
streaming onto a smile rising
from some remembered joy.

“Merry Christmas, brother.
Stay warm tonight.”

And it’s
Chattanooga no longer black and white
but a flesh and blood, heart and soul
Christmas Eve,
Waffle House amber beacon
cheap eats and free grease.

Cars at the Exxon station drinking dinosaurs
to take them back to the safety of
westbound northbound southbound highway,
away from down and out denizens circling the door,
away from Old Boy and Toothless Friend.

 

Poet, novelist and singer/songwriter Phillip Henry Christopher spent his early years in France, Germany and Greece. His nomadic family then took him to Mississippi, Georgia, Ohio and Vermont before settling in the steel mill town of Coatesville, Pennsylvania, where he grew up in the smokestack shadows of blue collar America. Escaping high school, he made Philadelphia his home, alternating between Philly and cities across America, living for a time in Buffalo, New Orleans, Fort Worth, even remote Fairfield, Iowa, before settling in Indianapolis. While wandering America he has placed poems and stories in publications across the country and in Europe and Asia, including such noteworthy journals as The Caribbean Writer, Gargoyle, Lullwater Review, Blazevox Y26, Blue Collar Review, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Blind Man’s Rainbow, New York Quarterly and many more. His songwriter persona, Philadelphia Phil, can be found online here where streaming music and videos reside.

Edward S. Gault is a poet and fine art photographer. He lives at Mosaic Commons, a co-housing community in Berlin, Ma. He has a wife Karen, and daughter.