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.