At my front door
i make the case
for being human –

and insist on giving
more than the charitable price –
it’s well received,

but I’m a sham. Boredom
is complicated –
it’s layers of vanity

between layers of spite
between layers of sadness –
Where is she? What is

left to love? Immaturity
is complicated. I might
volunteer to help at Christmas

with my invisible friends.
They can do with company
on such a painfully radiant day.