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A Christmas poem or ‘Bah, humbug’ …

‘Twas the morning of Christmas                                                                                         And all through the ‘hood                                                                                                    The slobs had been busy                                                                                                      As only they could.

Bud Light, Miller Lite and Coors cans were strewn without care                           Polystyrene fast food boxes both empty and full                                                                 Lay smashed with their contents laid bare                                                                     Which left me to mutter ‘What a bunch of bull – .’

Santa’s laden bag had nothing on me                                                                                     The seams, they were stretched                                                                                          My walk was almost completely without glee                                                                      For every few yards there was something more wretched.

My only hope for old Saint Nick                                                                                         Was that with idiots he’d be bold                                                                                       And tell those *&^%#@ nitwits                                                                                                 ‘I hope you enjoy your lump of coal.’

Quite the Christmas trove of trash. Not the best of gifts for Mother Earth.

Quite the Christmas trove of trash. Not the best of gifts for Mother Earth.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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