by Jon Corelis28 Oct 2013
Sixteen hundred sylphlike souls
rising from the redness
form a Christmas wraith.
In Washington Nixon blows his nose,
examines the result,
discards the tissue.
A girl receives her gift in Beverly Hills,
a brand new car in a huge red billowing bow:
she gapes and bites her hands,
squeals, moistens, warms.
Someone drops a quarter in Chicago.
Snowflakes mask its brightness one by one,
cold as a country’s heart.