Poems
by Richard
LeDue
My 44th Christmas
Old Christmas songs help me
deal with my slowly dying
artificial Christmas tree
but the silence,
made loud from voices
of all those who are gone,
need the ghost of Bing Crosby
more than I do.
Another Christmas Poem
All the Christmas lights
that warmed my childhood
have burned out like good ideas
no one ever listened to,
but I still have this poem,
shining as much as any dollar store
tinsel.
Our Practiced Smiles
Batman in a Christmas tree
while Santa Claus smokes
another cigarette,
but at least our practiced smiles
hide all our secrets
like cheap wrapping paper
that always tears too easily,
and I wish I could blame it all on
how we stopped believing long ago
in superheroes and childhood fantasies.
