The Hope I Have for Poor Ebeneezer (Christmas Babble)

 There’s something quiet about Boogie Street tonight. Macy’s is run down and it seems as if that death sentence from the blues is in effect. The printing presses of the world went off to write about the comedian who died in New York after all and that left us with some hope that someone will do some good.

Meanwhile in Sin City, someone put the chairs on the table as a dame called Nancy caught a bus to Ohio and now that its cold and empty, I looked among the debris for that lead on the succubus. I found only a box of rouge.

Winter has set in now in some parts of the world and the specters are getting ready to pay a certain Ebeneezer a call.

I take off the cowl, slip into the prepared face and I wonder if enough time has been spent preparing for this. A small snap of my fingers brings the djinn forth and I ask it to gather the elves’ artifacts together. Without warning it slips past me onto the sixth plane and Mists off into the distance, a reindeer looking to find other mates to pull cargo.

I walk to the edge of the rug and shrug on the red and white. People associate me with winter, with the Yuletide and with cake and meat and ale.

 I associate myself with cocoa and gingerbread and a large mistletoe plant which has an infestation of Grinch traps.

My quest for the succubus leads me to an alley where a boy lost his parents and became a legend that the criminals of a fictional city fear. I also remembered reading the story of a doomed planet and two survivors, one of whom is a reporter by day and leaps tall buildings at night.

And maybe this little rant that a man sitting in front of a terminal with fae lights strung up around him doesn’t mean too much factually, or the ring on his finger will as of yet take some time to reassure him he will be safe; but then again maybe this man and his stories about the stories he read about me and about Boogie Street and the man who laughs are where my succubus has gone to hide.

So maybe I should pick out the old book of tales where this ancient holiday was first named and remember the first thought that brought me gamboling into this world.

I smile as I put on the red and white and the djinn returns with my vehicle in tow. I hope poor Ebeneezer doesn’t feel too low tonight.

Off I go!

The Bilge Master