My compliments to the seasons
Without comfort or consequence
Another no-show Christmas,
devoid of angel-food cake and tinsel
No packages
No gooey, sticky chocolate sauce
Lightly sautéed with dill pickle
No sarcastic laughter or sparkle
(green metallic trim)
No warmth like flame, no voice
Unfettered by reservation
No lips like cherry cordial and
bubblegum drops
Or tongue like chocolate mint
It is as if you cease like feathers
during molt, but do not regrow
Leaving only the ache, the longing,
and undecorated pine for the
Christmas that never
Comes.