Gaspar’s Self-Imposed Solstice

(Revised from a few years back, reprised here)

In the morning he thought Today I will have
two lunches
but when he had the chance

he ordered a steak and cheese with a Pepsi
not a steak and cheese and a steak and cheese
with a couple of Pepsis to wash it all down.
Outside and after, under the half-past noon
grey snow singing, the day a gentle tonic,
he, well-served and surely surfeited,
half-bagged in the now nearly knee-deep day,
wobbled, took to the wheel and headed home.

No one knew what awaited his arrival there,
least of all him, who, finding himself lost
in the last of the year’s shortest daylight,
early in the evening, turned his face,
moonish and lachrymal, lit by a laptop,
toward the windowpaned eastward hills
only to find a single star shining there,
where a tiny Bethlehem still beckoned.

One thought on “Gaspar’s Self-Imposed Solstice

  1. and as someone recently said to me, there’s nothing I like better than a good solstice poem, and this surely is one. You nailed this and I must say those last two lines pulled the whole thing together as neatly as a drawstring on a sack.

    I bow to the master.

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