After Christmas

The morning after Christmas-
I need to sort myself.
Bathed in cake and wine,
the night before churns
in my belly,
pregnant with feasts
I am festive.
A large Santa, a bear huddling in contentment.

The room is still hazy
with the ghosts of the ones
who came bearing gifts,
not wise, but smarter than wise triplets.

I am left alone now
with the pigeons in the balcony.
Too full to desire anything else,
I am cushioned with anticipaton for New Year.
I drink my superficiality
from bottles
that litter the house.

I decide to just sit here,
waiting for time to happen to me
in the passing of the day to the evening,
learning patience and emptiness,
imagining judgements passed on me.

26/12/12