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Monday, 9 December 2013

Christmas Shopping

Our Christmas shopping must go on,
there is no stopping it; already at dawn
its the sound of puking wallets
on the street, as purses yawn.

A gift card, a new gadget, a face lift…
Behind: those market hands, invisibly swift,
in control of their main commodity:
the definition of “gift.”

And so we shop, in hopeless imitation,
praying gifts might still be new creation:
for perhaps Grace is such, even these hands
must copy incarnation…

For it must be more than “lack of thrift,”
or shopping is useless, Christmas adrift,
our open giving the openness of wounds
without the truth that repairs the rift:

the only true Christmas shopping, done
before the world was begun,
and all our shopping but therapy
for the pain of being so outdone.


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