Momma wants a Christmas poem,
And it’s two days late.
It’s nice being back home
But I never learned date saving.
Deadlines sound morbid
And we all know life goes on.
Just as Christmas future
Becomes Christmas present
Becomes Christmas past
Moving from ghost to ghost.

I hear the Grinch
Rattling Marley’s chains
To the tune of Jingle Bells
On a snowy winter’s night.
Flakes fall gently
Under a single, cratered headlight
Santa flogs reindeer hides
Out of reflexive lunar trances.

And we all get presents
And we all see our family
And we all eat too much
Except all those that don’t.
I’m unsure how to feel
About the do’s and don’ts,
Trading holiday spirit
For holiday solitude.

There’s a mythos here,
A subjectivity,
A joy and a pain.
A deep caring,
Wounded or welcoming,
Only the kind
Christmas can bring.

by Josh Glasson aka Cynical Wordsmith

and Momma is happy