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. Alone. 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 Alone Here. 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 Alone.
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 Alone.
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