The stink of tradesmen soils our air.
Square eyes yield to cynical “cheer”,
while Mary’s flight in Joseph’s care
is fast eclipsed by wine and beer
and the only type of spirit shared.
The poor dig ever-deeper holes:
gathering debt for children’s smiles.
Rather than nurturing their souls
they blithe succumb to market’s guile
and smother crucial Birthday goal.
Irish writer, Perry McDaid, lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. His writing appears internationally in the Bookends Review, Red Fez, 13 o’clock Press, Curiosity Quills, Aurora Wolf Literary Magazine, Amsterdam Quarterly, SWAMP and many others.