Yuletide

The sudden unanticipated screams
Of victims fleeing from a holocaust
Will interrupt our sweet recurrent dreams
Of global peace—but not for long. What’s lost

Can never be recovered, though we’ve learned
That there are strategies to compensate
For bridges we had thought forever burned
Behind us. Noble deeds can clean a slate

As quickly as a mop can dust a floor,
And single-mindedness can manage pain
Beyond what mortals normally endure.
It’s also useful to possess a brain

That’s capable of sifting through the chaff
To find the missing quintessential kernel
Of irony which makes us weep and laugh.
Pervasive ambiguity’s eternal,

A patent fact that keeps us on our toes—
Perhaps an instrumental saving grace
Revamping our existence. No one knows
How vital to our baseline inner space

Such quasi-cosmic intimations are,
But history suggests that interlocking
Contingencies will serve our rising star.
Expect a lavish bonus in your stocking.





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C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Over the past eight years, hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Australia and India. He is inordinately fond of single malt Scotch whisky.