Anne Caryl

A Christmas Poem

A Christmas Poem
Merry Christmas. Are you kidding me?
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A Christmas poem which has nothing whatever to do with the reason for the season

Late Christmas day: 
The cardboard box is ripped and crushed.
 The present and plastic tray,
Bound tightly by infernal ties
Deny attempts at play.
And I just sit
On the floor.
Where I’ve been for hours.
In tears.
A wire cutter cut no wire.
It barely made a groove,
And I bent the thin ties back and forth
until I couldn’t move.
The wire cutter has escaped me now,
 Sharp blade and orange sheath.
Lie just where I impelled them
Deep into the Christmas wreath.
And still I sit.
Here, on the floor.
My grandchild lost interest long ago
In toys that wouldn’t serve.
Spongebob whines from the TV set
And I have one last nerve
Which I’m sitting on
On the floor
I’d soak the thing in the bathtub
But it would ruin the paper part.
I could’ve used a cutting torch
But I haven’t learned that art.
Yelling at it hasn’t worked
Neither mercy pleas.
Its deaf ear turned against the tray
That now has scraped my knees.
Where I sit
In pain
 On the floor
And I stemmed the flowing crimson tide
From the fingernails that bled
And I twisted and I turned the ties
Until they, too, were red.
I’d give in, but that wouldn’t help.
 I’ve now succumbed to fear.
It isn’t all about that blasted toy.
I just can’t get up from here.
Where I’ve sat
On the floor
For hours

Anne Caryl
504 East Furry St.
Holyoke, Co. 80734