Christmas Poem

*

Christmas is coming

so let us flee

the artificial jollity.

Avoid all presents,

tinsels’ drape and

Spurn the mobius sticky tape

Don’t try the Plaza;

Santa’s there

Stuck – pervy sweat on plastic chair.

The freeze-dried carols,

strain on faces,

shopping carts sudden death races.

The beach is worse

‘cause sand and heat

can’t make up for the par-cooked meat

of tourists lying

on their towels.

Let’s bury some – you bring the trowels.



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