‘The Night Before Crisis-mas,’ a holiday poem for modern Brooklyn

via Flickr user emma.maria It was Christmas Eve night down in old Park Slope, The stockings were hung and they looked pretty dope. There was a nip in the air, some frost on the ground, The bodegas stayed open, selling whitefish by the pound. All the strollers were parked, all the yoga mats rolled, Elves on Shelves posed for iPhones (that shit’s Facebook gold). Folks here do all right, if you know what I mean. They’d left out enough kale chips to turn Santa’s poops green. But up in her brownstone, Sally Jones sat awake, With a sense of foreboding she just couldn’t shake. She’d turned off CNN, closed her browsers with a click, Then to no one in particular said, “2016 can suck a dick!” A sudden rap at the window then gave Sally a scare. Toward the fire escape she yelled, “Who the fuck’s out there?” There sat a bearded man, his red suit smelled of sweat. He glared at Sally between vapes from… Read More

‘The Night Before Crisis-mas,’ a holiday poem for modern Brooklyn : Brokelyn