Poem: At the Christmas Tree Farm
Posted on December 21, 2017 | Blog Category:
By
At the Christmas Tree Farm
Whenever I ask you
to turn down your outside speaker,
you point to your ears,
your trees needing to be sold.
Not that I’m against Joy
to the World.
Yet some afternoons,
trying to nap,
I’d like to think of joy
and the world in the abstract,
a place and feeling to contemplate.
And not a song
repeating over and over.
As if the world’s annoyed
at whatever joy there is in this season.
As if you want to convert me,
year after year, to your way
of shouting there are still good
trees left in your yard,
wrapped in nets, ready to go.
As in the old days,
when I could tramp in the snow
with a hand saw and spend most
of the day choosing which one might
look best in my living room,
would fit on my sled
pack in my car.
Which branches would hold
a world of ornaments, a star
of joy.
Gary Margolis, Cornwall