Little Christmas

                                      
Damned be the last candy cane
hanging minty fresh beside me
a cry in the corporate darkness
for joy. There is no joy
away with you. There are doornails
less dead.

Oh wretched confection, a blasphemy
of hope against the gray walls of my whoring,
Stop caterwauling Christmas. Give up,
you are now the ghost of the past.

Damned be the stripes and the unlicked
corpse of a the holiday, beaten
only by my own seasonally ineffective disorderly conduct.

Oh you wretched blur of hard-boned sugar
painted with false blood of St. Nick,
Stop exhaling the wailing cries for the gift
of crucifixion on your pined belief
that joy is a branch of your family tree.

Damned be you, last candy cane
my walls are bare now. Christmas is done
let me cry alone in my cubical
for want of one last taste. There is no joy
without you.