Christmas At Its Wrongest
Christmas at its wrongest
Around masquerade-watching men mill,
All of them like church -avoiding Jill
And all over again Christmas they kill;
The venue, a valley that hates every hill,
Shadows of death, dangling its bill
And there the family of Mr Gil
Also Chooses to mill,
As yearly defender of its shameless thrill;
On this day, no half acre to till:
A family spiritually at a standstill
And ever a marketer of its sleeping pill...
At some eatery I’m still studying my bill
And in strides fire-selling Cecil
To equally order a dish and eat his fill
But masks further watch from a window with sill...
Christmas, no doubt , at its wrongest
Masquerade, not Christ, the Guest!
Copyright © Chinedum Ekwobi | Year Posted 2021
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