THE WINDOW SCRATCHERS
Cheekbones scratch my window
purple tongues receive no blessed bread
not enough life even for snot
I turn away
Not today
Eyelashes flutter the glass
big brown eyes melt as they die
limbs watered to waste
I turn away
The queue at my window is growing
sisters with shredded vaginas
heart-ripped mothers
child-torn fathers
smear the glass
Not today
Let me have my fire
on this day
Let me have my dinner and wine
on this day
Let me have my friends
on this Christmas Day
Tomorrow I will clean the windows
