What’s the point
in dressing a fake plastic tree with warm lights and shiny *****,
in wrapping up perfumes, candles and strawberry-scented shower gels,
in exchanging smiles and Merry-something
with that family friend who has been knowing you since you were born
and who has taught you how to tie your shoes,
with that girl who was your best friend when you were fifteen,
who shared with you the first Lucky Strikes
and who used to wipe your cheeks
when your black make-up left wet trails.
What’s the point
if you cannot wrap up a warm wool sweater
or some after-shave lotion
or ties, socks, gloves
or whatever you feel like wrapping up
for your dad.