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.

 

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