As is
twinkle lights
in the trash
all connected
but one stopped working
right
in the strand
somewhere long the line
it got burned out
another box
another light
plug it in
and it’s Christmas again
farmed trees still in the soil
executed for their beauty
and planted with a purpose
row after row
rolling down the highway
like months in a year
like years in a month
a product for purchase
everything has a price
a mark
it’s inevitable
invisible
one by one
the bulbs
stop working
right
in the strand
and the tree
with a fresh shave
and a clean scent
looks in the mirror
down the row
and spins around
for the show
small hands are clapping
tap tapping
running through the limbs
and the snow falls in the forest
evergreen
like it ever needed
lights
TL