December
I was channeling Bing Crosby's ghost
In a dark corner of a cold basement
Haunted by another
The ghost of Christmas Past
My gut was filled with grim circumstance
And carved roast beast
Snow started falling
Or was it a collection of tears?
Either way, it was the wrong night for a drive
So I walked to the point of frost bite
She sat in the window brushing her hair
It was at that moment I remembered
Her gift was in my backseat
Lucky for me
She was no Rosemary Clooney
More like a forty something Judy Garland
At best