Santa’s worst nightmare

there will be no Christmas this year

the whole family dared to depart

to distant places and states

close to death, far from the sun

-

there is nothing to cook

the fridge is buzzing, but where is the food?

there is no way to make ends meet

I guess we must starve to death

-

chill blows from the fireplace and leaky windows

cold comfort, evaporated needs

fingers and toes frozen to death

nothing left, just empty socks, no gifts to give

-

the Christmas tree doesn’t shine so brightly

childhood glow lost for good, power outage

there is no money to pay the bills

everything is dire and going on a bad schedule for years

-

finally, someone called, but where is the phone?

isn’t this the one with the cut wire, cold dial and no reception?

a glassy face peeks through the shutters

where is life? mine is mixed with surrealist frost painting

-

the reminder lies beneath the rigid surface

there is no light, but it’s okay, I can see all the clues

the darkness sharpens my senses, clearing the view

turning them into icicles cutting edges

-

I will feed on words, no need for light

the greatest warmth can be found in human hearts

the phone may be dead, but the ear is acute

to listen to the world in its most resonant and wayward hue

-

where Christmas carols are not allowed, nor hypocrisy

to ensure that the accounts are settled

without alarms and with eyes open wide

whatever happens, Santa Claus will no longer give us his rod

-

where evil comes from, there it should return

sweeping the dirty snow into one heap of gloom

not touched until ripe

to die of one’s own will and in accordance with the law

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