A Rainy Day In January

 

Head down, umbrella up, boots on my feet,

   I walk between puddles as deep as seas

And weave like speeding taxis in the street

   Past the pale carcasses of Christmas trees.

If they could speak, then I would hear them beg

   For tinsel, like the homeless beg for change—

Their naked branches tugging at my leg,

   Your leg—anyone who’s within their range.

Like soldiers who fought in a war we lost,

   They are what no one now wants to remember—

The hope, the disappointment, the high cost—

   For January must forget December

      And walk head down into an unknown year

      That always turns its back on Christmas cheer.

 

Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells