I head home
from the double time pay
that I now make
on Christmas day.

There are no jingles
or carolers crooning
just a full bright moon
shining.

The Christmas lights
shift red green
reflecting
in the white
snow laden night.

My car slips to the right
dipping slightly
in a ditch
as it lightly
spits mud
while pulling itself
back onto the road.

There is no where
where I long to go.
The doors are all locked
and I forgot
the keys to
that younger me.

Still, I drive nostalgically
mud tracks follow me
as I head home
via the quiet country road.

I park and sit in silence
to reminisce
about the things I miss
my little brother,
my grandmother,
my grandpa,
and the malamute dog
that wasn’t really mine.

This is the time to find
comfort in the divine
but I cannot
find a place
for the divine  
in my skeptical mind.

But I can recall
a talking teddy doll,
a grubby caterpillar,
a hungry group of hippos,
a set of sweet books,
hot coco,
no sorrow
just my family.

Tis, the season
but all that is past
sipping the brown
melted marshmallow sweetness
that never lasts.

There is
no Santa Claus,
no Rudolph or Prancer,
no tiny elves
who sing like Elton
with his tiny dancer.

Audio book or podcast
in one ear
as the other one hears
siren rushing
somewhere out there.
Even though,
I have the humbug spirit
I am glad to make it home.

I pet a black dog on his head,
**** then get my *** in bed
and end this holiday
the same way
I end all other days.