santa
con job
they
are roaming manhattan
sliding
in the slush and snow in sloppy packs
frat
boys in santa costumes
with
piss stains on the crotch
their
sorority girlfriends
in
the requisite whore mrs. claus costume
complete
with fishnets
they
are doing an annual pub crawl
they
claim it’s for charity
but
the only charity most of the neighborhoods get
are
puddles of vomit
and
a rise in sexual assault cases
i am
standing outside a famous bookstore
that
never has anything inside for me to buy
watching
four of these red and white aliens
trying
their best to remember which way is west from east
three
o’clock in the afternoon in union square
and
they are already stumbling blind drunk
jesus
christ is what the holiday has come down to
another
gratuitous display of heathenism
by
our next generation of CEOs and lawmakers?
one
of the blonde mrs. clauses spots me standing there
and
tries to get her man to get directions from me
but he
just says, fuck that faggot
and
then the four of them stumble off
when
they come wobbling back ten minutes later
screaming
at each other
in
front of hundreds of holiday shoppers
their
big ball in the city ruined
by
their own gluttony
and
blondie starts making eyes at me again
i
think maybe i’ll go back into the famous bookstore
give
it one more shot
kill
an hour before my pub opens up at four o’clock
where
last year the world’s coolest bartender made it a sport
to
see how many of those jolly motherfuckers
he
could throw out
in
one festive evening.
--John Grochalski
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