I guess it’s okay
to “shit myself” a little bit,
go ahead & let my cynical guard down,
slip into a sentimental sweater
& listen to Nat & Bing croon
about sleigh bells or snow, play
into the whole “peace” & “good will” trip,
the golden rule, believe in
Christ & the power of love
(at least for one night) stay away
from whiskey & bird dogging
the mistletoe, maybe even pray
or say “thank you” or something like that.
I don’t know . . . ,
but I think it’s possible
that this ludicrous circus
we all perform in,
Ladies & Gentlemen!
could be the greatest fucking show on Earth
(next to the Rolling Stones, of course)
the greatest goddamn story ever told,
See the Amazing Marco Jesus
nosedive into the retail season! Amen.
There’s no denying my nostalgia –
Santa’s got me by the jingle balls,
& I could care less about debt,
extravagance or VISA Hell.
Just hum Frosty, Rudolf, the Little Drummer
Boy. I want to wallow in myth-shit,
magic, soak up the joys of those Yuletide
stories when I was a kid,
when everybody loved everything I did,
those roiling Christmas memories,
both sweet & sour . . . my tongue licking
at sticky fingers & salty tears.