‘Tis (After) the Season

As I round the corner, I hear accordion music.

There, on a bench outside of Macy’s Ala Moana,

sit an elderly white-haired man with matching full beard,

and a very young blond boy with glasses, maybe 8.

The old man plays a song I don’t recognize,

something Germanic, dancey, very Octoberfest and beer-stein clinking.

The little boy holds an ‘ukulele, but does not strum.

He appears to be waiting for something, ear pressed to his ‘uke.

Maybe it’s a more Hawaiian-style song where he joins in,

one that’s bubbling up on the old man’s playlist, and he’s ready.

As he pumps the instrument, I realize the old man looks like a perfect Santa,

perhaps just recently retired from his seasonal job of Ho-Ho-Ho-ing,

jumping into his new gig with the ease of a quick-change artist.

The little boy could have been an elf, the two

escaping the North Pole for a vacation in tropic climes.

When I walk closer, I notice a cup on the ground.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen buskers outside of Waikīkī.

It’s odd, so out of context; I stop and stand staring at them.

The old man smiles at me while the little boy, sits head bowed, listening for his cue.

I drop a dollar in the empty cup, nod and smile.

The ex-Santa smiles and nods as well,

and the little boy listens to his silent ‘uke.