Twas the weeks around Christmas, when all through my being

The hope of the season, I’m just really not seeing

The mocking faux kindness that’s up in my face

It works very hard to keep me in my place.

The privilege is nestled all snug in some heads,

While visions of greatness, within them it spreads;

That's Karen in her ‘kerchief, and Ken in his cap,

All smug and pretentious and widening the gap

The pleas in my inbox, create such a clatter,

I spring from my chair to see what is the matter.

Away to my Windows I flew like a flash,

Another damn email was asking for cash.

The shine on the best of this Charity dough

Gives the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

And, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But payroll deduction to spread the good cheer,

The ask is for little, but that is a trick,

Because all the littles add up really quick.

More rapid than eagles the causes they came,

And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Food Bank! Now, Good Will! Now, United Way!

On, Boss Gift! On, Gift Swap! Please give more today!

Our department must win and give more than the rest!

No thought for real need, we just want to be best!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

Much of this giving, does mount to the sky,

Then comes back to earth to do some real good,

Bringing bits of relief to the misunderstood.

But still, all this jingling, misguided at best

And for working poor, leaves us dispossessed.

As I draw in my head, come this time of year,

Down the chimney a hand pokes; “Please give more good cheer!”

I must dress all in fur and pretend what I'm not,

Some littles are little, my little's a lot;

Or is it just me? Misguided and skewed,

Angry and sad when I should be renewed.

Their eyes – how they twinkle. So simple and merry.

To seek their redemption, to find sanctuary

In privilege and pride tied up with a bow,

And fed by some lies as white as the snow.

This stump of this gripe I hold tight in my teeth,

And the source it encircles my head like a wreath;

From pretend to pretentious to privilege to pride,

Like something inside us has crawled off and died.

To be chubby and plump, a true jolly old elf,

I must find my compassion, in spite of myself;

From questions to doubt then to angry and mad,

I must reach out beyond to find grace in my sad.

I must speak not a word to those who won’t care,

I must drive all my moments with focused despair,

I must find in myself that spark that has died,

I must move out beyond my privilege and pride.

I must spring from my thought to my word to my deed,

Away from the specious surmise that I’ll bleed.

And you'll hear me exclaim as I keep up the fight

Go Karen! Go Ken! Into that Good Night!