I know exactly what you're doing for Christmas,
I know where you'll be and how you'll feel,

A smoke stack billowing on a silent street,
A laptop with images you should delete,

A mired mind full of pageantry and games,
Estranged from everything but self-serving aims,

Perhaps in love, perhaps alone,
But either way, not at home,

Certainly, completely aimless in the fog,
Trolling, ever trolling, like a serpent in the bog,

The crystal, lacking luster, can't be polished to shine forever,
And your bag of tricks diminish as you're not terribly clever,

Time is the sweetest revenge, and my best friend,
I giggle to myself knowing how this Christmas ends.


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[Edited 12/13/09 9:15am]