Two days ago

With talk of the glitter and gold that’s on sale

I wanted

Just this once wanted 

To speak about Santa

To plead his case, there in my tiny kitchen space

He’s real, you know

The jolly, the old, the sharing, the care

It being just November, such talk would widen eyes with the wrong wonder

Quite quickly, I ushered the imagined magic back into the attic

And sadly shuttered that door

He’s busy, they’re busy, lists of to who, to do, to should and to want 

None of it’s useful to me