It’s boxing day (the Brit name for the day after Christmas) and Pamela, Lisa’s grandmother is visiting our little pandemic ark. Pamela’s a Cowboys fan so we’re watching them slaughter Washington - between commercials - but now a Tesla commercial is running. “Those electric cars,” Pamala says dubiously, “seem problematic.”

“You’ve heard of global warming, haven’t you, Pamala?” Leeza says. Leeza addresses everyone (even her grandmother) as if they were her age (12). It’s both seductive and lazy. “This whole system,” she raises her arms to include the apartment, the city and America, “will collapse - we’re DOOOOMED,” she concludes, as if speechifying to an eager crowd.

“Everyone’s heard of climate change,” Pamela says, sipping her eggnog. Pamela is as well informed as any of us and seems rather envious of the future, even the coming awfulness.
“Leeza’s her own theatre,” Her mom says, grimacing indulgently.
Leeza’s full attention was now on the pastry tray - having spotted two small eclairs under the bear claws - she'd lost interest in the conversation and saving the planet.

“The system won’t collapse,” Will says. Will received his early acceptance letter from Harvard the other day and now he knows everything. “We’ll lose Florida, South Carolina and New York,” he pronounces calmly, “so there’ll be some.. migrations.”
“Thank you, professor,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes as if to say ”Harvard people.”
“I think the Covid might get us all - before climate change,” I say, in the spirit of the holiday.
“Well,” Will says, grinning, “that’s what ALL the people at inferior colleges think.”

Leeza, passing by my easychair, curls into my lap like a cat, gently petting my hair. “Don’t be mean to MY friend,” she says, purringly - I was suddenly her possession. Lisa comes out of her chair, a sly smile on her face, to lay crosswise atop Leeza (and me).
“Ugg,” I managed to say, squirming to get comfortable, then “Akkkk.”
Lisa says, “Leave my poor roomie alone!” and starts baby-kissing my head.”
Will starts in our direction like HE’S going to pile on. “Egggg! I shrek, “HELP!”
Pamela whoops with glee as Dallas scores another touchdown.
“Like beating a dead dog with a stick,” she says.

Merry Christmas and all that
Do put on your tinsel hat
Humour does not go amiss
To one and all blow a kiss.

Rules are for some - not for all
Well! this is quite a close call
Remember to doff your hat
Aye, the Queen can greet the cat.

Twinkling stars and fairytale
Flying carpets never fail
From all our eyes drop the scales
Re-mix and spare the details.

Living in a "Wonderland":
My eyes can feel grit and sand
Like floating in outerspace
With a mask across my face.

Earth has had a thorough shake
The world is due a re-make
We'll see what lands on the top
For success, failure or flop.

The frosty white lane
Down the 'Wolve's Bane'
Tagged along with the joy of jingle bells

My foremost heart
Frown at the part
where I stood with the most visual grin

I remember about the
Rudolph and the red nose reindeer
The countryside along with its pioneer
With the sudden rush of happiness.

Little red socks, the big gree tree
Lights and locks
I feel so free
When Christmas is along the corner
Stand with the most beautiful
Visual of the year

But to those little tears
Of that little two sisters
Who barely had any good Christmas
Still standing with glittery eyes
hoping the foremost.

May past all the sad and sorrow
May past all those who cried tomorrow
Now is the time to jingle along with the light
The spirit of heaven and hell between the fight.

As we finish dressing the table, the room is dizzy with aromas
and the turkey teases with a golden, honey-like translucence.

Candles, nestled in poinsettia settings, provide a flickering, golden,
almost magical light that’s refracted in windows, crystal and white tablecloth.

I hear Leeza nearby, swinging the living room with laughter. Everyone is giddy from drink, mouth watering hunger and near impossible expectations.

I wish you all a safe, Happy, Thanksgiving.

I’m surprised that I’m not upset,
I suppose It hasn’t hit me yet,
that I won’t be home this year,
and I won’t have my family near
for Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Just another hard discipline
that, I suppose, is part of growing up,
but this tradition blowing up
is the comfort of home.

Still, I suppose I won’t be alone,
‘cause we’ll visit on our phones.

On assigned holidays
I step out of the order
of my work into the row
for useful relaxation

The grain comes up
the sun breeds the grains
and colours the winter out of our skin

Everything is included, extras
can be booked on site
and appropriately enjoyed
in one of the wings

Thus we fly laps
in our dreams for a week
enjoying our role

although there is always someone
who doesn't participate, hooking
on to the back with a book
that he could have read at home

without disturbing others
in their well-deserved vacation
of exclusive behaviour

Deep in the backwoods of the Knoxville antique,
The black marble sky growls,
A panther,
To outsiders—those inside city limits—
The vanishing streetlights and,
Absence of neighbors,
May put them on extra alert but,
Here,
The panther’s like a friend
Watching over us

All day long me and my cousins,
Waited,
For the whispers of night to cover us,
In the last few hours before Independence Day drifted
Off for another year,
We broke out the rockets:
Nine-packs,
Missiles,
Roman Candles,
Sparklers,
Big and small,
The show was about to begin

Darting away,
From explosives right before launch,
Cracking up till
Our lungs hurt,
Bouncing on,
The backyard trampoline—
(I think I got punched in the eye that night
by accident)—
Playing with the border collie named Shadow,

We were frozen in a dream,
No person could break up this night,
Running without legs from parents’ rules,
And from mysterious police,
Hoping that Shadow wouldn’t go
Nuts,
Hurt someone

We were all—parents and cousins—
Drinking
In the elixir of freedom,
Caught in the secret
Between
The night and the countryside

If Santa Claus snuck up on you,
would you be ready?
Don't look so haughty,
cause if you get caught bein naughty
Santa's gonna get you good, buddy.
Better shorten that list sonny.
He ain't much for greed.
Ask for a **** pony,
might get the whole stampede.
What would you do
If he snuck up behind ya,
leaned into your ear and whispered,
"I GOTCHA!"?
Better be on your best behavior.
Bein good should be your goal.
Don't think your slick.  You best be careful,
unless you like bein given coal.
Look at you bein all ornery,
fussin and yellin, duckin and dodgin.
You ain't foolin no one but yourself by
sayin, "Santa ain't watchin."
You already know he's gonna write that one down.
Man, Santa's been watchin all year round.
But you did what you done, just know that he's knowin.
Welp, at least you'll be able to keep the fire goin.

I was so scared that my hair turned gray.
All because I wore white after Labor Day.
I was scared that I **** nearly died of fright.
People became violent and I was forced to fight.
People were enraged just because I decided to wear white.
They kicked and punched me and some would even bite.
People kicked my *** on a regular basis and I had quite a scare.
I was so frightened that I constantly had to change underwear.
I got my share of bruises, broken bones and cuts.
An elderly woman even shoved her foot up my ****.
When it was all over, I was amazed that somebody didn't have to call my next of kin.
If I live to be a hundred, I swear that I'll never wear white after Labor Day again.

Tell me you see ice cream,
cold British beaches, amber filtered
hanging bright buckets and spades
and pebbles and sand
tight lanes through time lost green fields
with only hedges passing judgement
tell me you see *****
(the good kind)
and flabby dad *** abs
that remember the potency of other times
tell me you see the sea
tell me you see me there