The tangerines are surprisingly good
and the apples will stew up nicely.
Christmas was mild this year
and though the local children
were sad there was no white Christmas,
the parents who handle the snow shovel
breathed in a sigh of relief.
They know it will not last for long.
Subdued, we sit -- waiting out the day
waiting for the store bought satisfaction
to wear off everyone's face and
get back to normal. The mask is thin,
but effective and I am sick to my stomach
of all the fake piety. Throw some pennies on the drum.
Santa is a drunken bum wielding a bell
and a hangover.
We have enough channels on television
to avoid the Christmas shows
and the pre-emptive strike
of the day after sale commercials.
I drink cold beer.
You drink wine.
The sun is shining.
The lawn is still dying.
Must be global warming. Maybe
the ice caps are melted
and Santa's out of on the streets
with the rest of those red suited
pick pockets.
Too much to hope for, I know.
At least the stewed apples
are good and warm.