I have an ugly sweater
I bought for Christmas joy.
The dogs depart when it comes out
for fear they’ll have to wear it.
The Christmas tree drops needles
and hides its star when I walk by,
embarrassed by the sight.
The mistletoe falls from its perch.
My sweater clears the room.
I’ll celebrate in some dump bar.
I know I’ll drink alone.
inspired by day 29, ugly sweater, in the Garden of Neuro Institute Poetry Circle
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