Everywhere I go—
this slovenly
heavenly Christmas-
green
tree of a mood—
slathered around
like—charitably far too much lemony
yellowish butter on slices
of toast—
hewed thick and
careless from dark gruff loaves;
making
me feel—
first—
greedy
then
awful—because not
for the hunger
but just—
the sheer gross ameliorating
comfort
of food—and more-
over—the rest.
