|(Glade jul, Viggo Johansen, 1891)|
I was in the middle of writing a poem about Christmas tree lots, and I happened to come across this one by Chris Green. I’ll lay mine to the side for a while, since this is much better than my attempt.
Christmas Tree Lots
Christmas trees lined like war refugees,
a fallen army made to stand in their greens.
Cut down at the foot, on their last leg,
they pull themselves up, arms raised.
We drop them like wood;
tied, they are driven through the streets,
dragged through the door, cornered
in a room, given a single blanket,
only water to drink, surrounded by joy.
Forced to wear a gaudy gold star,
to surrender their pride,
they do their best to look alive.
Source: Poetry (December 2001).