A poem about Christmas by David Tombale: The Game

Christmas means different things to different people The Game is just one of those stories.

The game

The sparklers burst and leave a
flood of lights to burn behind
my heavy eyes as I peek inside,
tear wrapping off of boxes to the
delighted squeals of naked fiends.
I grab a waist and drag him to me,
place a cotton sweater over heated
skin with the windows glaring open
as dust outside lifts from around the
rim to add to angels balanced on a
twig.

He puts his hands on either
cheek and gazing at his missing
teeth I’m reminded of this game;
toss him high then let him down
while the carols quietly sing his
name.