The lonely Christmas tree
with blurry colored lights of whimsical windings
gleaming from depths of blue-green
Gone are the brightly-colored presents
with their metallic bows and tissue-paper explosions
The goods have been plundered
the paper folded
Only glitter and fake snow remain
tasseled and silent
The crowning star leans to the left
the slight pull of gravity has worked
slowly, slowly
A red elf hangs carelessly on the lowest branch
A ballerina kicks out her leg ferociously awaiting attention
Shimmering globes mirror into infinity
No one ooohh and ahhhs at its magnificence anymore
They brush past it as if a minor annoyance
the harbinger of January’s austerity and pragmatism
where the wind blows through