|
The Christmas Allergy |
Somebody always cleans
and dust falls like snow
on a green shag carpet.
Siblings squabble over
breakfast cereal and broken toys,
the furnace is too hot
and Bing Crosby croons snowfalls
while the house grows smaller.
Pine trees and tangerines
scent desert air,
sniffles and coughs recurring
in the hot breath of a five and dime
full of cheap wrap and ribbon.
Syrupy chain-store cider chokes
like a pill too big to swallow.
Holiday singers harmonizing with sirens,
as your starter motor strips
and your clutch burns into traffic
when a decrepit Santa
jumps off the curb
to clean your windshield.
In the mid-December,
season of joy,
our city fills
with angry commuters
all honking at you.
copyright 2007
Jerry
Garcia |
