is something like plodding up a flight of broken
stairs, the metal underpinnings exposed.
It’s useless to try and push time.
Out of breath you stop
for a moment
recalling the litany of excuses why Sammy got sick
at your Christmas party.
Damn, he has the flu and now you have to call the parents of all the kids
to let them know to be on the lookout.
Shit.
Shit and more shit.
You reach the top of the 150 foot vertical climb and
your heel gets stuck in the rusted lip of the step.
Fuck is the only word that comes to mind.
It’s the reason for the holidays, you tell yourself.
It’s not really but shit, when the holidays
are really nothing more than a series of black and white reruns
then what makes for a celebration if not a fuckfest?
Hell, let’s make everyday a holiday…
