"Santa is coming tomorrow night",
she said.
For me it was right then.
Her four year old nose
moved like Elisabeth Montgomery's.
I made 15 cards
to her 1.
My blobs were mistakes.
Her's were ships in the Holiday Sea.
She made any accidental Frosty Frog.
I had to re-do female reindeers,
I didn't know girl reindeers
don't have bottom eye lashes.
Pushing the new 3-D Elmer's glitter glue
until "I need a break".
Me in the old skool Elmer's white.
Trading complaints and markers.
She danced and snapped her fingers
to the Beastie's "The In Sound From The Way Out"
even voicing she was scared of "Shambala".
My eye grew deep and wet
at nothing more than the spectrum,
and where we fit.
Some of the new-skool-glue had scents,
strawberry, lime, grape, pine-apple, and the O one.
We dabbed each with new knowledge,
ending up with Fruit of the loom sparkle Rudolph looks.
She poured an entire plate of glitter on herself.
I'm the guy trying to talk people into play catch with rice.
Were the cards making us?
Some where in the mess I penned my own knuckles.
It was not "ozzy", "jake", or "elwood".
The simple "soup" and "gato".
Never before had I,
waiting for the glue,
she asked to color my tattoo.
Her curly red hair spiced in multi-colored flexes.
The vacuum bag had never been prettier.
My Taoist Kitchen spirit was to report on the 25th.
I laughed at the idea of Heaven, on Christmas
being covered in sloppy glitter.
�2003 Daniel J Harris