ex-mas

ex-mas

The tree is packed away without ceremony
before it lingers like an unwanted guest,
shedding plastic pine needles
all over the carpet.

The children watch, without helping,
but move forward to touch the shiny
baubles one last time before they disappear
into the garage.

As always, there are leftover candy canes,
some with masticated ends
(the cat has dined well this year)
Others have been ground

into dust by negligence, by kneeling knees
making out names on gift tags.
They never get eaten;
except by the vacuum, that is.

Later, we brave the shops
to sit and eat lunch in the food court.
My kebab wrapper asks customers to

I blink and squint outside
where it is beautiful.
Why aren’t we all at the beach?
I wonder
Instead of here, at the SALEs,
full of flesh yet
empty as fakery.

(Karen Andrews)

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