Hears door tapping but it ain’t no Raven; fears live on the outside. Outside — it’s so funny, you’ll even laugh — where he was just a week ago, spending the Christiest of Christian holidays. Most capitalistic-est, joyorific.
Voyeuristic, his life was now, watching others have his fun for him. Cruelty was his celebrity, an idol, he found alone, in solitude.
“Come on, dude!” he heard his dad say, pulling him out a major funk. But, here in the dark, bells rang, and holiday rhymed with shmoliday. All in a day, his heart had sunk when he realized his condemnation.
So … how about that Christ! Boy born in manger, later, double-crossed in Roman fashion. Back to that in Easter — eggs don’t make baby humans, and this day’s for the babies. Barbies, Hot Wheels, Legos, bikes on hot deals, lashed out over our backs. Trees laced up on backs of cars, and antlers, reindeer flash a smirk. Lights flash endlessly throughout, a quiet night. Every creature is stirring, mice bite leftover takeout.
Some folks carol, and poor kids too, spotting the best decorations in sight. Might it be about the giant firs? Pine cones scattered in the pines. Birthday candles — there’s always a grip in December — paving the way for presents. Egg nog…
