twas the night
before christmas
and all through
the home
new york hardcore
was blaring
the cro mags screaming
of sins to atone
the kids
are not here yet
and i am
all alone
just tapping out
shitty poetry
by the glow
of the phone

santa sent
a text message
he’ll have to visit
next year
apparently my side
of the poverty line
lends too much depression without good cheer
so i sent him
an emoji
in subtle
scathing response
told the fat bastard
we don’t need him
and called him
a nonce

now it’s nothing
for christmas
no gifts
under the tree
better clarify that
there are no gifts
where a tree
would festively be
the stockings
are moth chewed
and home
to large rats
the chimney lined
with guano
and a small colony
of rabid bats

said there is
nothing for christmas
don’t bother
searching for gifts
just sit
on the couch
listen to the angry men
with blistering rifts
there isn’t
any paper
with snowmen
sledding on presents
there is nothing
for christmas
just softly whispered
laments