If there is a person named Lindsey Lew
In the universe, yours truly would kill her
With the same cavalier spitefulness,
I had when last I choked her. Xmas,
Is cold, so pour yourself a drink of tears,
And listen to my Elvish craft of leers.
She had stumbled down the stairs by the light,
Of a lantern, my back was turned toward,
The cold mantle. As fast as suicide,
She shoved her breasts under my nose;
I had, in hand a pen for Christmas-wish,
Which I’d been writing with brevity to
Santa Claus. By the flicker of flames, I
Read her handwriting. In a jealous fit,
I grabbed at her arm, jostling Jesus!
And her wrath in the newborn dark, I heard,
But never saw, ‘til the hem of her robe,
Took to a new height the Old Spirit.
From her robe to the tablecloth and tree,
-Breaking glass, as I leaped to safety-
In the end, there’s nothing but fire to see.
Afterward our house, engulfed in flames,
Became hollow and hot. On a whim I
Let it burn, a beacon to those sad elves,
Whose task it’s to drag by chains a mirror,
Across the world’s sky.
__________
Copyright 2023 Jeffrey Merk
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