Merry Christmas $1.84

This one was inspired by a cryptic history.
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If only my mailbox could muster the courage to form the words you must’ve meant.

As if a little glitter is enough to patch up a hole in the wall that begs the bitter wind enter safely.
Or a check hidden in a fold could buy back skinned knees, honor roll certificates, pre-feminist playground games, post-pubescent heart troubles, the first rally, the first and second graduations?
All things spectacular, mediocre - a fall from Grace,
a journey to enlightenment - have rushed past without your knowing.

Hallmark certainly doesn’t erase snotty noses, smoking barrels, swallowed fearlumps, or sheets hiding tiny, tear-stained faces from a troubled memory.

The days of sugar and spice and everything nice are long gone and the evenings completed by mothball scented animal crackers have been tucked into the depths of forgetfulness.
The only thing worse than a Driftwood Dad is the older generation of bandits that acted as his accomplices.

And if you knew me at all you would know that I hate pink and don’t believe in angels.