HE 3 Poem by Max Temmerman

People flocked together
round the fiery Christmas trees.
Sparks that swarmed
like wintry insects.

Later that night he
occupied my house, usurper
from the city who readily
planted his standards,

room after room after room.

He cajoled me into going along
and let me hear which gods
were in stock. Protectors
of home, future, garden.

There were golden pheasants in his throat.
He walked with his head in the clouds.
Anchored his legs to my ground.