A Thimbleful of Ash
Santa won’t visit us tonight.
All the cookies will go to waste,
the cards, the toys, the bows.
A fire in the fireplace.
The front door left unlocked.
Somehow, Santa knows.
On the porch, a stack of wood.
Long lives, a thimbleful of ash.
With groggy eyes,
Santa’s looking at his map.
It’s foggy in the San Joaquin.
We’re getting nowhere fast.
On, Donner! On, Blitzen!
On, Stella and Maureen!
I don’t like macaroni.
Why not? You used to.
It squeaks. It squishes.
It isn’t green.
Can I have a cookie now?
No, those are for Santa.
Is Santa fat? Yes. He’s roly-poly.
Can I be roly-poly too?
Not without your macaroni.
Catch-22!
The vineyards are asleep.
The neighbors have gone to bed.
In the far distance, a baby cries.
I still remember what he said:
Long lives, a thimbleful of ash.
December 24, 2005
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Also by William Michaelian
POETRY
Winter Poems
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
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Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
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