Can you hear the sleighbells ring? By Keith Gorman

It’s time to hang the holly out. And because I

thought that I might sing and make this a cutesy

Christmas poem, I’d like to get a few things straight

before the holidays throttle us toward extinction:

 

No one’s helping to garnish the tree. As a matter of fact,

the heavy boxes in the basement must be hauled

up the stairs, step by narrow step, on a strong, steady

back. However, the stairs are steep, and loosening

 

tree limbs requires patience, not to mention

hanging all those glitzy reindeer and making damn sure

the lights all work; there are always a few bulbs

broken, loose, or in dire need of replacement, so I turn

 

to you and ask: If this Christmas Day is your very last,

and from this year on, the sleighbells will all be gone,

do you still have the balls to hang balls on a tree?

Let’s have a beer and start that conversation. 

Keith Gorman is a retired Appalachian poet who resides with his two cats, Iggy and Ozzy, near the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Eastern Tennessee. He is a scholarship recipient and graduate of The Sherwood Conservatory of Music in Chicago, Illinois. Currently, he divides his time between writing and hiking the slopes. His poetry appears in various journals, including I-70 Review, Chiron Review, Slipstream, Broadriver Review, Delta Poetry Review, Salvation South, and Naugatuck River Review.