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Mar 152014
 

by Weldon Sandusky

 

A huge van picks us up, secures our

Money buckets and tapes the ringer

On our little bells.

Competition is fierce. I come in Sixth.

A fat Santa Claus man first.

We’re congratulated, almost elf like.

Giggle.   And go home.

 

Like hungry lions we’re

Careful next day and don’t get

Too close. We keep an eye on our bucket.

And it gets cold.    Depressing.

Facetiously displaying joy.

Scrooge like counting pennies and nickels.

Ho!  Ho!  Ho!

 

Then oddly we all really laugh.

When several ringers

Are gone one night.  Bucket and all.

A skeleton tripod remains.

A crew of martyrs and misfits.

Waiting outside a door.

A driver who is  at least

A Captain in the Salvation Army.