by Stazja McFadyen

I have forgotten how to Christmas shop.
I tried. For the sake of my Visa and Mastercard
I really tried.
Got in my car, drove as far as the Arboretum.
In the parking lot I lost my Christmas cheer,
transformed by humbug necromancy
into a sewer mouthed blue Christmas meany.
Stupid drivers everywhere and why did that
     surprise me?
"Hey lady, you ignored a stop sign!"
"Ever heard of using your turn signal?"
"Idiot! Yes, you. Sitting double parked in your
champagne beige utility vehicle
blocking oncoming traffic! Sit on THIS!"

My favorite Christmas store,
Higginbotham's, is gone.
They didn't call.
They didn't write.
They didn't invite me to their
going out of business sale.
I would have maxed my magic plastic cards!
Like my Christmas spirit, Higginbotham's is gone,
replaced by an extravagant tobacco shop.
With tobacco prices soaring
you would have to sell
some stock in Dell to afford a cigar.
And can you see Santa leaving a note
in my grandson's Christmas stocking,
"Have a Havana, ho ho ho" ?
I don't think so.

Sharper Image gave me a
Nieman-Marcus sized headache.

Banana Republic rendered me numb.
Their merchandise used to beg me
like the eyes of cocker spaniel puppies,
"Take me home and love me."
No more.
No more homespun summer cottons
or slinky ankle length dresses
that make you dream of exotic islands
you approach from the decks
of romantic South Pacific steamers
abounding with mysterious men in fedoras
who talk like Bogey or Peter Lorre
and you can't guess if they're smuggling
contraband or secretly saving
your country from sabotage.
No, Banana Republic has those clothes no more.
The buyer caught on to the fashion sense
of upwardly mobile spenders.

Even the waiting line at Amy's Ice Cream
pissed me off.
I left with my zero balance credit cards intact
and I'm not going back.

Oh, sure, I'll buy some gifts for the grandson
but I'm not putting up a tree.
What Christmas spirit I can muster
I'll spend serving County Line BBQ and punch
at the Santa Rita and Chalmers housing projects.
And just as I did the year before,
I've save a plate for Santa, hungry and teary-eyed
after he hands out presents to resident children.
The Austin Housing Authority lady
tells us this is the only Christmas
some of the kids in the projects have.