stolen feasts and sinful acceptances

the shoplifted
food stuff sits
waiting for the
stars of the show
to arrive so i
can snap forth
from my sedentary
uselessness to
prepare a somewhat
bountiful feast
for them tomorrow

i get by with a
little assistance
from friends that
are more like family
than the family
i haven’t seen in
decades at this point
the rest is acquired
by hook or by crook
so my loved ones
never have to go
without the way i do
the two weeks between

i may be a failure
unknown and unread
but i will do whatever
has to be done for them
so they never know
the frustration of
working yourself down
to a pale sack of bones
yet always scraping by
trying to figure out
how to eject them from
this endless loop of
hopeless poverty and toil

what am i thankful for?

my two little
carbon copies
and the one with
wildflowers
in her smile
the silver linings
to the tempest raging
in my bipolarity
because they keep
the light of hope
burning brightly

and the old crone
that taught me to steal
when i was a child

it isn’t about
being thankful
it is about survival
pimping my words
and forgetting to
scan the things
that cannot be
acquired legally
walking calmly out
with a smile behind
my mask that never
quite reaches my eyes
hoping no one looks
too closely at me
or the cart i push
out into the light

humming softly these
holiday blues under
my own bated breath
wondering how much
longer this facade
can continue before
living hand to mouth
catches up to me
writing terrible poetry
secure in the knowledge
nothing i ever do
really truly matters
faking a smile and
wishing everyone i see
a happy holiday season

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