Mired deep in winter solstice cold and gloom,
Craving festivities aglow with cheer,
We lose our heads and foolishly assume
Debt we’ll regret all through the coming year.
Our budget’s of mere Cornish game hen size,
And we should choose a dinner fowl to match it,
But splurge instead, unthrifty and unwise,
To buy a turkey that outweighs Tim Cratchit.
We shop like fat-cat monarchs from the East,
Not stocking up on myrrh and frankincense,
But flashing quantities of gold, at least—
Gold cards with rates of fearsome consequence.
The season’s propaganda tells us we
Should generously aid our fellow man.
But who’s got money left for charity?
A doornail’s what that concept’s deader than.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Church’s Answer to the World (ft. Carter Griffin)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Fr. Carter Griffin…
Voyages to the End of the World
Francis Bacon dreamed of abolishing disease, natural disasters, and chance itself. He also dreamed of abolishing God.
The Lost Art of Saying “No”
Conservative pundit Matt Walsh recently contended that “we have to recapture the long-lost art of saying ‘no.’”…
