The Off-Season

With spring in full swing
       as the birds had returned
       along with the bugs and blooms
he remained   as good as marooned

in the very same spot where he'd been
since a week or so after the Magi'd arrived
       bearing mythical gifts for the infant King
and he got hauled off  to his off-season post.


An unblinking unthinking   half-visible ghost
his beaming  street-greeting self on the shelf
he did what he'd done for the last few months

as he stared all day without a fleck of complaint
at a well-neglected world  of dull flaking paint
       in the very back corner of a very back yard
       where a ragged fence met a run-down shed;

as he stood in motionless round-the-clock guard
— over no one and nothing —
not a shred of a thought in the void of his head.


The fence and shed  mere inches from his eyes
his unflattering ass faced the gaze of the road

and going by his clothes it'd be safe to surmise
that his view would fail  to improve till the ground
was once again snug neath a thick quilt of snow.


There he stood  through good and bad weather
this hollow  hard-plastic Santa
              who   praise the Lord   never
              in all his over-the-top tawdriness knew

of his dismal vista's home
but who had he known would have pined
for the glorious shine of his Christmastime view.
From his lofty perch near the top of the earth, Korvus observes the whirling world of humans, with equal parts disgust and amusement. Korvus is the author of the unpublished book "RED PILL POEMS The Poetry of Empire, Politics and Power" and may be reached at ravenzroost@protonmail.com Read other articles by Korvus.