Christmas Comes
Christmas Comes
By Peter Neil Carroll
Today isn’t my holiday;
neither did the Puritans celebrate Christmas—
only after huddled masses, tempest tost
slipped through Ms Liberty’s golden door
did Santa tumble down the chimney.
So what? says the bored look
in my child’s eye. All day we shall suffer
her shame, born to pagan parents,
she will see us through the eyes
of little friends who believe.
Yes, Virginia, today we will dash to church.
Not to pray, mind you, but to see the unseen
wretched refuse lining on cold sidewalks
and to serve those we will have
with us always, strung out
like light bulbs at St. Anthony’s.
At noon, we dollop beans and rice,
turkey, spuds, chopped carrots and greens.
Everyone polite, clean, stiff-backed,
without voice or tune
or jingled bell, only the scrape of chairs,
spoons tinkling in tepid cups.
Peter Neil Carroll will be publishing two new collections of poetry in 2022:
Talking to Strangers: Poetry of Every Day Life (Turning Point Press) and This Land, These People: 50 States of the Nation which has won the Prize Americana from the Institute of Popular Culture.