"A Seasonal Confessional"

Like the creeping summer fog of San Francisco,
   it is a yearly tradition;
   when music from Jingle Bell Rock to Silent Night
   fills our waiting ears like a benign infection
   that has only recently become all pervasive.

Lo, people assume that I have taken
   the oath that most jazz musicians swear to —
   the thinly veiled (or overt) hatred of all Holiday music.
To do anything but sneer at that music amongst this clan
   can be dangerous —
   or at the least, unseasonably embarrassing.

But I have a secret love for this music . . .  
   not the muZak, but the muSic,
   pouring out of fairy nymphs playing Celtic harps
   and boys who have never even seen an Xbox, singing.

Really, I just wanna have my way with these songs,
   and twirl them until they break,
   or cry,
   or laugh uncontrollably
   at their new wardrobe and isometric skis.

My question is not what Jesus would do,
   but rather, what would Brahms do
   with Angels Heard on High?
Or, what would Art Lande do
   to Sleigh Ride?
Or, what face would Johnny Ramone make
   as he pierces our hearts with Lo, How a Rose e’er Blooming?

I trust you all won’t give me up to the Jazz Police,
   at least, not until Easter . . . 

 

March 2022

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©2022, Michael Smolens