Holidave

"Calendar, Calendar on the wall,

Who is the holidayest of all?"

I ask, and reach for that big, fat tome

Of cute-and-quaint but senseless advice,

Like "How to stay put when you'd rather roam"
Or "How to be perpetually nice."
Now, put on a hap-happy-holiday face;

Give a mile when all you can afford is an inch;

Waltz across those icy streets with hallowed grace,

Even though you're halfway from Kringle to Grinch.

Run away? Skip town? Break free? Come on, get real!

You're gonna pay a hefty price if you misbehave.

What do you think this is? Bueller's Ferris wheel?

Be a gentle, genteel, pleasant, playful Holidave!

© 2023 David Acosta

A Bottle of Fresh Mountain Air

I had hit rock bottom at last.

All my dreams were shattered; I wanted to die.

So much for my sunny forecast;

I hit the streets, determined to say goodbye.

There was a vendor standing there.

I asked him, "Sir, what are you selling today?"

"Fresh, restorative mountain air!

And it's not for sale; I'm giving it away."

"You've bottled it?" I asked. "Yeah, right."

"You doubt me," he said. "That's your prerogative."

"Can't afford it," I said. "Good night."

"But it's free!" he said. "Wear it, share it, and live."

"Wear it?" I asked. "Fresh, mountain air?"

"Yes, like cologne," he replied. "Take it from me."

"Share it? But there's nothing in there!"

"Oh you're wrong, my friend; take a chance and you'll see."

"What have I got to lose?" I said.

"That's the spirit!" he said. "Have a lovely day."

"You too!" And the green light turned red.

So I left him behind; I hurried away.

Bottled fresh mountain air—he's nuts!

I laughed as I crossed to the opposite side.

"Hot dogs! Soft drinks! Chips and peanuts!"

"A special on footlongs!" an old vendor cried.

It's you again! Here, on this side?

You're the guy who placed this bottle in my hand!"

"Not sure what you mean," he replied.

I looked back: no vendor, no bottled air stand.

"But he looked just like you, I swear!

Didn't you give me this decanter of air?"

"No, sir, but what you're holding there

Is no mere decanter of air; it's a prayer.

Twist the top open; go on now!

Your heart's dearest longing is in there, my friend.

Yes, you're gonna make it somehow;

Your life is worth living; this isn't the end!

The bottle of air represents

The spirit you carry within—can't you see?

You mustn't give up; recommence!

Don't bottle your yearning to live; set it free."

© 2023 David Acosta