The sound track thunders on my desk
as my fingers seek out the words.
I turn down the gain
as the tunes of yesteryear play yet again.
My muse is not really up to the task
as my mind seeks out other worlds.
The night is strangely silent
as the manic orgy of shopping ends
except for those late
and in frantic search for a gift
any gift so their public image
is not consigned to the forgetful
and cheap;
Remembering to enclose the bill
so the recipient can exchange
or just get the cash.
Image is everything
and even though they really
don’t give a shit I fear
they can slide under the radar
for yet another year.
Why give gifts anyway?
Dumb pieces of bric-a-brac,
and even automobiles
and chain saws
or an assault rifle under the tree…
It’s into the kill, kill, militia
for you and me.
Perhaps grenades or land mines
as stocking-stuffers
and who cares who suffers.
Pull the pin and run
gee whiz now wasn’t that fun.
Stuff your face until you grown
can’t wait until the relatives
and hangers on
has all gone home.
Watch the dumb ass TV bowl game
or some creepy old Xmas movie
or just get drunk or stoned
now that would be groovy.
Gather the family from
far and wide
and choose up sides and fight
so much for
“Oh holy night.”
Now I have no sins for which
I must atone
because hell is other people
and it’s much better to be


©Copyright December 23, 2006 by John-Ward Leighton


Submitted for the December 2006 IWVPA Theme Project, “The Spirit of Christmas”


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