Ho, Ho, Ho

I have no use for this, I think, as I trudge through
A parking lot on frozen feet, another bag of
Presents "bought" by means of credit
Swinging underneath my hand, more bribes
To please the undeserving. Every eave
Is lit with lights, and, issuing from countless
Speakers, tinny, boring Christmas tunes
To celebrate, is that the word?, the birth
Of God's son, also God, not someone in
Which I believe, and, anyway, now shoved
Aside by all of this: a feast for merchants,
Coerced joy, unfelt and rote, communal,
Thus at odds with how we've always said
We are. Weren't we horsemen striking
Out across the prairie on our own, or dour
Pilgrims, conscience bound, to sail off
To the wilderness? We work for wages
Now, and understand it's best to not
Make waves. That's why I've bought
These god-damned presents, why I'll
Have to get half drunk to synthesize
The season's joy, when what I want
Most I won't get: a silent night
Somewhere with you, a smile
And a kiss.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 52 times
Written on 2014-12-23 at 20:02

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