The rear view comes into focus
while the future fades away,
we sing the songs that have driven us crazy
since nineteen fifty eight.
Our throats, increasingly lumpy,
our bellies stuffed with cake,
our living rooms get rearranged
so The Tree can assume its place.

Branches hang from the lintel,
and we actually light the fireplace,
we try to channel our ancestors here,
in a wildly different space.
We’ll wonder as we wander
why no store left in town
still stocks the stuff great grandma could buy
at any store she found.

Nothing gets swiped for our Stollen,
and only scant crumbs remain
after roasting up that marvelous goose,
which reeked of wild game.
Still, we eat with all the reverence
of someone worshipping their God,
the saint of another’s expectations,
never suspecting a fraud.

We need this time, we crave this time,
as crazy as it seems,
humans require a life cut sharply
with clearly delusional dreams.
These dreams bestow our purpose
and blunt the cruel edge
of a life infused with clear confusion:
cue Santa and his sled.

And I’ll be a true believer
until my dying day.
I’ve no excuse for this clear misuse
of the time that’s come my way.
I am not really abusing, though,
my allotment on this sphere
to allocate my shortest days
on the tail-end of my year
to excess and some reverence,
one paradoxical pair.

I hope to never figure out
what I’m really doing here,
so I’ll smear another Stollen
and pop another beer,
that herring dressed with sour cream
certainly belongs ‘round here.
The cats are sure to wonder
why we taunt them with that tree,
and I will not feel one second of guilt
for anything I eat.

The days start growing longer
and the season fades away
while I peer into some shiny ball,
believing I see my way.

Merry Christmas!

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: Christmas delusion