• andrew jeter

A Holiday Mug


“Wow, these are a booger!

I think they hired a bunch of three-year-olds…”


He is untwining Christmas lights

from a box.

I did not put them away last year.

They are new.

They do not come

with recrimination and scolding—

marriage’s brooding,

Gordian cloud that likes to

lingering just outside

in December’s early gloom—

set to Frank Sinatra’s classic

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.


And then he exits the room

on swift, thin legs

that bounce and

I hear him start to sweep up

the pine needles

our new tree glittered over

the kitchen floor and

I stay very still,

sipping my cooled Glühwein

in a holiday mug.

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