T'is the Season

Blinking stalactites dangle
          encrusted in silver and red
          plastic holly and sparkling rose whorls
While drooling wheelchair trolley
          treads up food court ramp
          toward Santa.

Languid murmurings echo suffusion
          below chair skid melody, like tiny trumpets
And a shine of warmth
          climbs down through the clouds and glass,
          lightly drawing my eyelids together
          russet clouds filling mind's eye.

Here, it's seekers' haven.
          traffic'd by cart and walker
          toting tall cups of Tim's
          sucking smoothie straws
          and dangling babies
                                by the arm pits.

Little boy tramps blue gum boots.