I stare at the Christmas cards
on the mantle cracked open
like the mouths of fish
after a last breath
with the lights off
bulbs and plastic snowflakes
feel cheerless out of place
our fake pine tree seems dead
presents tucked under its hollow gloom
just a few days to go before
we celebrate the “Birth”
probably enough time
for my heavy clouds
to find a new home
don’t worry about me
it’s the kind of malaise
a lot of us have here now
and really any time of year
it's a First World problem
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