The week between Christmas
A semi-recurring poem by Keith McLendon
Amid the week after Christmas,
piles of wrapping in bags,
shiny paper and boxes in trash with the tags.
Sad little scissors sit broken and bent,
from clamshell packaging--they don’t make a dent.
The lights are still sparkly, still light up the town,
but pretty soon work begins in taking them down.
Kids run around ‘cause they’re still out of schools,
having a good old time while acting the fools.
But the tots are forlorn from here to Hoboken,
Christmas is gone and their new toys are broken.
Uncles and Aunts and those other relations,
bid farewell and return from their mini vacations....
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