A sickle moon
hangs over the city lights

December time is all about
waiting in line

Bitter winds whip past frozen smile masks

Pretence shopping
for past tense giving

I can fit capitalism
in my handbag
next to your business card

All the decoration
sans the celebration

I half expect to see
Santa pinned to the cross

Comedy…
we wait in empty camaraderie
patiently under the blinging tree