Gifts out of Dirty Weather
       

At the mall, three dead weeks before Christmas,
Half the women are old and half are ancient.

All I want under the tree is something to drink,
Bland and warm, and a little butter for my bread.

Up here, in winter where the night ice cracks
Like a knucklebone, some still have this vision:

A windblown paradise of dunes and hula trees,
Salt air and sunburnt rum. But I keep the cold

Close to me. I take it naked into my bed.
Above the fireplace, kings go down on their knees,

Rich gifts laid before the babe, when all he wants
Is his skinny mother, whose only miracle is milk.

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Copyright © 2013 Elton Glaser All rights reserved
from The Law of Falling Bodies
The University of Arkansas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission