Holiday Spirit

When trees bare their bark
And carolers remove any doubt that
"Tis' the season to be jolly"...
It just let's me know that instead of Daddy
Santa's going to to be beating Mommy
And it's no surprise that instead of
Gift filled stockings
I'll wake up to the sight of Mommy
With two freshly blackened eyes...
Shrieks of pain
In lieu of shrieks of joy
There has been no joy...
Since I can remember...
Not even this time
Last December...
October
Or
November...
And me in my childhood state mind
Can only look to Daddy
And ask him
"Why?"...
It's all my mother's fault
If she had kept her pussy tight...
This probably never would have happened
But it doesn't make it right
No Christmas present's this year
Because..
Daddy spent the money for our gifts...
On the corner...
27th street...
Looking for the typical TRICK
Like the typical JOHN
Just to let his semen
Trickle down the bridge of her nose
To her lips and down to her chin
Because he loved the way it made her glow
And with
Each act of infidelity
I lost a dollhouse for my Barbie
A new pair shoes
To go to school
Because the old ones don't fit like they used to...
But Daddy still loves us.

This girl in my class said that...
Her mother had the same red stains on her mouth
Her father it was borscht...
Or beet soup...
I tried to take my mother and apply that same lie in my mind...
But my mother had never eaten a beet in her life...
So now what's the excuse?
Daddy never hit me...
I never did him wrong...
I gave him all the hugs
And kisses on the cheek he could ever ask for...
Maybe if Mommy did the same thing
Daddy wouldn't beat her anymore
And maybe we could see
What it's like to know what the holidays are all about...
Christmas dinners
And milk and cookies...
Instead of the milk and cereal I had
Followed by the doughnut from the man in blue
Who comes about once a week
To make the peace
So I can go to sleep.

My mother's eyes will be a different color in the morning...
Blue and black and purple and red and swollen
Her lips will burgundy and split
And crusted over but she will still manage to say the sweetest things
In the morning before I leave...
Something like a depiction
Of Hughes' deferred dream
Of a syrupy sweet
Or a festering sore
And...
Next year
Daddy will still love us...
And he will still try and make up lies for Mommy's red lips
Like telling me she ate too many cranberries
And they bled on to her lips
On Thanksgiving...
And soon...
My Daddy will realize
I am no fool---
My mother taught...
To smile and make the best of it...
And Daddy...
Taught me to play rough...
And that...
Cranberries only bleed
When you beat the shit out of them...
And I will learn
What it's like
To get the holiday spirit.