The Rude Gift

On Christmas day
under Christmas trees,
I searched the sky
for another star.

When I suddenly saw it,
through the tinselled heartaches
passed the lead soldier war memorial
and the fallen dolls mission house,
a carefully placed crucifix.

Neatly wrapped in the ninety second psalm
bound round tight with glittering wires
left bleeding in the fairy lights, as if
awaiting its maker’s macabre applause.

But I expected a little
something less wonderful
at least a little less suspicious.

So I quickly threw the crucifix on the fire,
watched flames catch in its out stretched arms.
Took a crown of golden paper for mine
and sat content before the charred relic.

Stuffing my stomach with the darkness of rum,
before the children tumbled down stairs
come looking for me and my crooked gift.

JGH(c)2003