Secret Santa

In dark December, sink
into the memory of childhood
like a bog man into the peat.
Drink too much & sing.
Gather all your small griefs,
your long-bearded regrets
& grotesque humiliations,
dress them in red & set
them to hammering. This is
the season of fresh starts
& the slaughter of innocents.
Remember to cut air holes
in the top crust & don’t stint
on butter. Wear sensible boots.
Go out into the long night
& learn the names of the stars.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

7 Comments


  1. I love this, Dave. With extra lashings of butter, and stars, I might survive this one without too much hammering :P

    Reply

  2. Another good one, Dave! At least we have butter here. Evidently Norway is clean out.

    Reply

  3. Wonderful! You cannot have a Christmas poem without butter, and you’ve used it perfectly.

    Reply

  4. Gosh, thanks, y’all! I’m trying to make a little video for this poem, too, in my abundant free time here.

    Reply

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