Waiting For A Refill On Christmas Eve Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Who lives the glittered lives
of greeting cards?
Old Santa's just the first
of many lies.
Who dare resists
when every song bombards us,
makes us spend, consume,
our life despise.
What if your past
was filled with scenes of strife,
of feasts of gall, betrayal,
unsettled scores?
What if
as captive kids
you lived your life a hostage
trapped in dinner table wars.
If mandatory cheer
just makes you mad,
escape allotted bonds, genetic chains,
renounce the bad,
refuse what makes you sad,
create traditions new
of what remains.
How can you feel included,
safe and calm?
Just call that late night diner waitress,
“Mom.”