Poetry Corner

Last Christmas

Yes, I remember last Christmas
waving from the street
frosty season's greetings,
the day distant, incomplete.

I remember phone calls with my kids,
a distinct absence of hugs,
never thinking for a moment
we'd been taken for mugs.

Some of us were working
in plastic mask and gown,
sweating down the hours
in every city, every town.

All those moments given
that cannot be lived anew,
given willingly because
it was the right thing to do.

Now we find at Christmas time,
ever-rotten at the stem,
there was one rule for us
and another rule for them.

Harry Gallagher

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