Taking Down the Tree

Here's a poem I wrote many years ago. I'm sure some of you feel the same way.

Spirit

How desolate, exposed, the living room . . .

Our customary spruce out by the curb,

how green of me to think, expect, presume

that I’d feel festive as a Hallmark blurb

this time. No elders at the fireside,

I sigh, no kneeling oxen. It is clear

I failed again, although I really tried

to trim my tree sufficiently this year.

In January’s pallid, lifeless light,

with April pending like a clockwork star,

the Magi gone, the family in flight,

I value sugar-plums for what they are.

Yet I shall pack each ornament with care

and stock up on some half-priced angel hair.