Reciprocation

by abubhaji

Reciprocation occurs ’round
here as often as Christmas
and for Christ’s sake, can’t a body
say hello anymore?
It wasn’t like this
when I was younger.
When I was younger
and still had a few good looks
about me, I grew
my beard. Like now, it was
the thing to do, back then.
I felt manly, for a moment,
then.
Before I knew it, it grayed over
with wife, children, divorce, and loss.
With each new gray hair
I also gained a jolly pound.
Jolly, my ass.
I became a recluse, man, a goddamned
recluse. Moving away from
Humanity was the Tao for me.
I let go of everything;
my machismo, my libido, my
Italian foo-foo loafers, style.
Big black boots is all I wear
these days;
Leathered black as the night
before Christmas.
Boozing fire-side, on one such night,
brooding over the cold in a room alone,
I decided something
must to be done.
There needed to be some reciprocation in
this life, this world.
Someone
needed to do something.
I called my dentist
little guy
he told me he knew someone that knew someone that could help for a price.
So, I traded my Land Rover for
some ole sleigh
and rented out a
workshop from the sprites up north, and
got to work.
It’s been a challenge, I’ll tell you;
technology’s hard to keep up with,
reindeer are all crying “union,”
but, at least,
there’s some reciprocation in place
for all that you’ve given me.
I intend to give it back,
in spades,
but, if you happen to run
into me,
while I’m out on delivery,
don’t expect
a hello.