Quick

Quick quick.

Run around the house cleaning
from top to bottom.
Wash every item of clothing,
every dish.
Rearrange books on bookshelves,
clean out closets, reorganize dresser drawers.

Redecorate, move the furniture around.
Yell at the kid when he crosses my path,
slam his meals down in front of him,
and head for the bathroom
that needs a clean shower curtain.

Panic panic.

All so I will be too tired to sit up
and let the Christmas tree blink me
into a Christmas tree depression.

Two years ago - no husband.
One year ago - no Jacob.
This year - no Jeremy, he's going to his dad's.

Like Pavlov's dog,
I am being conditioned into not liking Christmas.
.