The old year sat on the curb…

January 1, 2016 § 5 Comments

beside last year’s favorite toy,

discarded, wheels-up.

And a Christmas tree forlorn with tinsel.

And the cardboard carton from some

must-have gizmo.

Christmas trash.

 

The ribbon across the old year’s chest,

so festive when champagne bottles

blew their corks

was tattered now.

2015 it read.

I’m one for the history books,

the old year thought,

responsible for bellicose shouts that

drowned the gunshot-crack of

glaciers calving into a

too-warm sea,

and the smug hatred of they’re-not-us,

and mass migrations

of suffering.

But some grace too,

the old year thought.

Of babies born and trees planted.

Of truth spoken and shelter given. 

He was smiling over spring’s

remembered flowers when

The limo rolled up.

*

2016

Arriving in style.

A little tipsy and way too 

cock-sure.

The old year sat slouched 

like a panhandling bum

as the new year

strutted by

ignoring the old year’s

benediction:

*

“Good luck, fella.

Good luck.”

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