Little Norman Rockwell flakes are falling.
The fire is flickering in the stove.
Outside I’m sure brisk cold air is blowing.
The season not amenable to a carpenter’s income
Is upon us once again
Leaving my wallet as empty as Scrooge’s heart.
I’m not destitute by any means.
Pay check to pay check,
Robbing Peter to pay Paul is old hat
For working class winters.
I’ve even been feeling a bit wistful and nostalgic
For a block of government cheese
Or a can of their excellent butter
My father brought home as an occasional happy surprise.
Unfortunately unrepentant Scrooge’s spiritual offspring
Have been running for office lately.
Sorry Timmy.
No turkey for you.
And, I’d keep those crutches handy.
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