3:48 a.m. Dec. 25, 2008

not a creature is stirring
maybe some mice, i don't know
they seem to like the cali weather as much as anyone.

there never were any stockings hung
as no one here cares for such frivolity,
the children long grown and gone.
St. Nicholas is a lie,
just like the title of this poem.

there arose no clatter,
the gurgling of an ulcer awoke me
and the sultry blast of the central heating
keeps me from further sleep. 

it does not matter, as time flies
whether i'm on board or not.
it's too hot so i turn down the heat 
and the cold creeps back into my bones.

i pull the covers close and imagine life before the advent of the internet.


i decide to check out the Cafe,
wondering if anyone had the stones
to leave an honest review.

 

Author's Note

my head hurts

Reviews

[Libby McKeown]

They say all poetry are borne of lies. The title may be a lie, but maybe not for asomeone else reading this. Your human, your body aches, your head hurts, and your mouth may spin lies and bitter half-truths, but your words, and your art, will far outlast you, and the pithy reviews that accompany it. Your work is HONESTLY good enough to do just that.

[Gheeneil]

There are just some boring and tiring days. Perhaps, that was one of those.

[Emily B]

did you find an honest review yet? sounds like a holiday miracle