Poem: A Trio of Dates

A trio of dates
walk into a bar

Thanksgiving orders a Wild Turkey
straight up, no ice.
I confess, Thanksgiving says,
I’m weary of working so hard.
All I’m asking is, once a year,
a little gratitude.
Some people are faking it.

Tell me about it, says Christmas,
setting a glass of eggnog on the smooth wood.
I was all for the whole Santa thing,
but this is out of control.
Not what I meant by “giving.”

New Year’s sips a Shirley Temple.
A perfect opportunity for change, it mumbles,
handed to one and all, and what is the result?
Bogus resolutions.

The bartender comes by,
wiping up drips and rings. Another round?
The trio of dates rise from their barstools.
New Year’s says, Nah.
We need to go before Valentine’s shows up.