Another poem

On Christmas Eve

The stockings stuck up, the cookies all cooked,

We boys sat cozy in the dinner nook

And wondered aloud if maybe we’d hear

Santa Claus’ sleigh bells and flying reindeer.

 

My brothers had both made their Christmas lists

And promptly mailed north their hoped for gifts

Not me. I had waited. Procrastinated.

I’d forgot I said that I’d do it later.

 

My father said teasing, “Better be good,”

“Or I’ll wave Santa past our neighborhood

And tell him to keep on flying straight south.”

O’s big as oceans in our open mouths.

 

Brushed teeth and pajamas, tucked in with kissed heads

My brothers sleeping, but I’m awake in bed

Because I still had not made Santa my list.

I’d been extra good! What a sucky twist.

 

I prayed and hoped Santa would hear the sound.

Maybe Jesus would help, if he was around

But I didn’t know if the two were friends

And hoped, tonight, they could at least pretend.

 

Quiet house, under a blanket of snow.

I really tried to sleep, but I did know

That of all my childhood’s awful mistakes

This was the worst. And I lay, awake.

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