I wrote this during my final year, after many, helping to sell Christmas trees for a local business.
in the Eastern town sticks on the side of one-twenty-six there's a little house here and only once a year we gather like it's yesterday working in the tried old ways from PLUs to Tree Life mix I only think of them in the sticks all these traditional, repetitive, harmonized, competitive, wonderful, overwhelming ways hands too cold to hold with all these kind, selfish, lovely, rotten people celebrating in the American way (right under Uncle Sam's nose) all the orderly chaos that is the Season. the cynical retail mindset returns, three weeks slow the holidays and the memories losing their glow customers begin to remind me of cattle, coworkers of bees as we sell our Christmas trees, orderly chaos, one sees we're not so different. Life imitating life. but you feel powerless against the politics on the radio when you can't play office politics. There should be no politics in the sticks. In our yesterday ways, we should be simpler. But we ignore the symbol of togetherness that we sell.