I could spit! I shouted in his face. Turning paying guests away! He brushed that couple off without so much as, Maybe we could find … .
When will he learn? The Census earns five years of room and board, but lugging wood and curing
hay, learning isn’t on his mind.
Of course I’d carve a plan. I’d hearth an extra rug to keep her bundle warm. He and that soft-eyed man would share a bed. And when it came her time,
we’d march those smelly shepherds far beyond the barn and hush
those wings and aggravating songs. Enough to drive dreamers from their restless sleep.
And, the publicity we’d glean! A destination site, at
least. Not every day do morning stars and cameled Kings ruckus through
our town. We’d be
well-mapped, well-known for
hospitality, not the butt of half-lame jokes. We lost the chance. I’m furious!
Know what’s worse? That dotty neighbor with the rotting manger molding hay lets strangers muck across his barn, dropping coins to say they’ve been.
Now he roams his days
across the hills,
singing sounds like tidings, peace, and human hearts. Who
talks like that? I’d like to know. Who talks like that?
* * * * *
irate over loss" was previously
published in Mistletoe Madness, 2015.
From associate professor of
English to management trainer to retiree, Carolyn Martin is a lover of
gardening and snorkeling,feral
cats and backyard birds, writing and photography. Her poems have
appeared in more than 125 journals and anthologie throughout North America, Australia, and the UK. Her fifth collection, The Catalogof Small Contentments will be released in 2021. Currently, she is the
poetry editor of Kosmos Quarterly: journal
for global transformation.