I’m glad to have dime store Santas and plastic reindeer
To remember from my long-ago childhood,
With memories of cedar trees plucked from pastures
Shedding spiny needles on waxed hardwood floors.
I’m glad to have eaten large family dinners with shaking Jell-O salads
And Depression glass bowls filled with olives, the real star of the meal.
I’m glad to have worn rubber boots closed with elastic frogs
That failed to keep frigid cold from my childish legs
As I walked into Midnight Mass on starry nights under shadowy skies
Where not a single cloud bothered suppressing warmth from earth.
For without these memories what would Christmas be now?
Blaring canned music, multiple Santa Claus men at every store in town,
Sometimes sitting under forgotten suspended Halloween masks.
Now trees are decked out in color-coordinated glass balls
Costing the same price as a pair of chic designer shoes.
Gifts, gifts, gifts and commercialism galore.
No, without my memory of those simpler times when
Father Christmas sat among a flickering candle or two,
When paper chains and paper straw stars rested proudly
On tree limbs among tawdry silver tinsel strands,
I would be lost among the glimmer and glitz
Of today’s furry fat Santas and cold commercialism.