The work crew
arrived
and disassembled
the Christmas scenes
on the town square,
packing up the plaster
carolers, the reindeer,
the sleigh, the rigor
mortis Santa (waving still),
the baby Jesus,
and the pile of hay.
They prepared the ground
for the January thaw,
the dubious holidays
of Ground Hog's
and Valentine's
and the snow
of the March blizzards
(which never came).
They sawed down
the ash trees
with little ceremony.
At last we can be
ourselves, I said, not
speaking to anyone,
but noticing a tumbler
of whiskey and ice
balancing alone
on the ledge
of the window
of the pizza house.
Beat that.
And now suddenly
it's May.