Pretty packages peak from under the tree
as needles once perky now sag.
Children hover, but don’t touch
as they count down days, hours, minutes
until Santa arrives.
not to drive my husband crazy
on gifts to thrill and delight.
What if I did not spend well?
What if the gifts are not quite right?
What if I replaced the one each longed for
with the one merely mentioned,
a passing interest,
a fleeting desire now expired?
So I count down days, hours, minutes
hoping that smiles will swell
and my frights will dispel
once the wrapping is ripped and
Until then, I must wait
tasty cookies on my plate
and the smell of aging pine in the air.
inspired by Poetic Bloomings prompt 34