Tis the Season

Cold snow melts down my hot throat We’re smelling fresh pine not from some aerosol can but of roots from the earth as he slices away years of maturity, landing on top of our car– Oh Christmas tree I can taste the wood floating in the air; crunchy splinters on my tongue Holly, berries with red bows adorn the front door December outfit, winter decor The lights a bright trail in our indoor forest leading little hands to the gifts below Objects fly in circles I juggle them fast a holiday jester– turkey stuffing tape scissors ornaments paper. Batteries for toys kids screaming for joy relatives who annoy this season’s a ploy that’s sent me into poverty...