Get Off My Lawn, Kids

Leah Mueller

Once I
discovered
the truth
about Santa,
my patience
for miracles
began to wane.

I prayed
every night
until I was ten,
but God
also failed
to deliver.

Now, in my
seventh decade,
I have given
up hope
for a Socialist
takeover,

a vegan
renaissance,
a sudden surge
of brotherhood,
or heartfelt
apologies

from ex-friends
who dashed
my love
like eggs
against a wall.

Forget miracles.

We are
all better off
waiting our turn
in the emotional
bread line,

hoping there
will be a few
tiny scraps
left over
when our turn
finally comes.