Sometimes
he slips off
an icy roof and shatters
like a ceramic ornament
on a hardwood floor—
not this time.
Other times
a ginger man clutches
the walls of his throat refusing
to join his brethren below; blueing
the big fellow’s face; falling
him in a lump.
This time
his rotund figure proved
the culprit, packed in
the chimney like his chocolate
likeness in an overstuffed stocking—
except yuletide stokes
below.
Arms bent against chest;
hands flat upon brick,
he crinkles his fingers
and scratches and
claws.
That’s not Christmas
spirit he’s inhaling.
A youngster opens
his eyes escaping
this singular vision—tears
slide down cherub cheeks—
bad news
from the front seat
again.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
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3 comments:
Mr. Andrew's earlier Santa Claus poem inspired this.
Without a doubt, my favorite poem that you have posted.
I like the evocative imagery in these really condensed lines. The 4th stanza is so simple, but vivid. I miss this blog sometimes.
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