The bright foil is crimped
Into the wasted torso.
The wrap, ribbons and bows
Are now in the landfill, limp.
It has been a mild season.
Daffodils are shooting out
And ditches are like guano.
The chocolate Santa, tossed
In the trash, has turned to lather.
A lowering cloud spreads in the west
Like a fierce monster that devours.
Here is where we build our nests,
Crazy joy in a world of doubt.
Santa has lost his hollow head.