this is my time
of the year.
that time when
rusty trash bins
sprout wilting
but still green
christmas trees.
this is my time
of the year.
that time when
red and gold
tinsel balls
are made stuffing
for shinier and
plumper black bags.
bags that get to be
treated to a cheerful
dusting of non-toxic,
non out-of-the-can
frosting along
the hectic streets.
this is my time
of the year.
that time when
the grating cooing
of that puerto rican
couple across
the hallway sounds
half as tinny, as
say, two weeks ago.
this is my time
of the year.
that time when
I don't expect
that hard
for you to call.
this is my time
of the year.
that time when your
call (that if you
do, at all.) rings
just like
everyone else.