Noël 2022
Gifts from This Writer
Twas the night before Christmas
and I will not deny
I was editing scenes of a novel
on the sly.
I’d been surly-grouchy
the day before
trying to figure out
things I’d not figured out
of yore . . .
In the 1990s
when weirdness
began to seep
into every page
of published PC-Creep.
I thumbed through a book,
Unplug the Christmas Machine,
written by two eco-queens
advising the pre-woke world
on Recycled Holidays
for the Secular Dummy
(twas a gift in 1992
from me to Dear Hubby).
What was I thinking?
I asked in anguished pain.
You weren’t thinking,
the reply from My Muse
laughingly came.
When I was through
with this hideous reminiscing,
I asked for permission
to throw out this paperbound bilge
of a Boomer ego-trip.
Dear Hubby turned away
from the kitchen sink.
He spoke not a word,
but went straight to his work,
and, with visions of tossing out
other supremo jerks,
he headed outside
to the garbage can
to perform his duty
like a heroic man.
Thus, by putting the 1990’s
where they belong,
I broke out in song:
“I’m dreaming of a White
Christmas
just like the ones
I used to know.”
Twas the night before Christmas
when all through the house
the soothing aroma of homemade
chicken soup
told this domestic mouse:
Even though this year
has seen grievous pain,
the faithful traditions remain
to cheer those of us
who truly do love
and trust
in the Lord.
And with that celestial accord,
I permitted myself
one last look
at a scene
in the un-written book
where Riego speaks
of ardent love
for the queen
of his silent heart.
Then I closed the laptop.
This writer hereby exclaims
ere my fiction flies out of sight:
Merry Christmas to all
and to all —
a good night!
Debra Milligan
24 December 2022