For The New Year Poem by Morgan Michaels

It is the last day of the year. Long live the Year
dark and drear and full of cheer
wound up like a top, in cellophane, clear,
like a doll, like a package of new batteries, I fear.
Sing the New Year, the year with a chair
of light spread out on its face-so young a year
it pisses itself. We duck and laugh ourselves to tears.
Another one, another one. O Year, you will be, you are
one part Koln, one part Javel water, one part Belgian beer.
Think of your stately and low-swinging ancestors
that tumbled slowly down the stairs-
to disappear into the rug of the come-before
with only a little struggle. Fly well, you toddling year
while, sopping up the mess, we tarry here.