Absurd Christmas

Christmas was once filled with clear skies,

And the feeling of warmth,

Glowing against my sun-tainted skin.

The sound of my bare feet,

Thumping against hot concrete,

Was the soul of Christmas resonating within.

Opening presents with my cousins around,

Made the fact that Santa never brought me my wings,

A bit less melancholy.

The making of:

-Pepper-pot-

-Macaroni pie-

-Fried-rice-

-Baked chicken-

Invaded all five senses,

As Home-Alone blasted on television.

The clock strikes 2012,

And the window behind the Christmas tree shows snowflakes,

Instead of sunlight blazing against a zinc-roofed house.

No cousins opening presents,

But Home-Alone still plays in the background,

Drowning out the sound of Santa’s reindeers, tapping on the roof of my condo.

But the smell of:

-Pepper-pot-

-Macaroni pie-

-Fried-rice-

-Baked chicken-

Still lingers in the air.

And as I’m missing the hot concrete beneath my bare feet,

The thought of Christmas without snow,

A Christmas without wearing a beanie,

Or a scarf,

Seems like an absurd one.