Christmas

Christmas

Her words flow effusive

Like lava, molten.  Melting rocks

Mellow is the background music

She is tired of boondoggle. Cacophony

Of the Guests.  Bright are the Christmas lights.

When had the Christmases became for the bourgeise

Champagne is what Christ would disapprove of.

She is sure.  Quid pro Quo?

Christ was a socialist

No longer can she feign Elan for these capitalist festivities

But the Turkey is well cooked

Tinsels and presents make her children ecstatic

More mulled wine, anyone?