Just breathe, just breathe
I bow and weave
I dodge, I squeeze
I have to leave
before I lose
one of the few
small shards of calm
(see, in my palm
are marks that prove
I'm in no mood
for holidays
and store's bouquets
of sounds and toys
and merchandise)
Just breathe, just breathe
when suddenly
a miracle:
the aisle's full
of people but
(as though they're cut)
they move apart.
I move my cart.
Such sweet relief,
the end of grief.
While passing by
I deeply sigh
a thanks to fools
and happy Yule
as I go about my day.
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