I wrap his body
In the finest tabloid paper and
Tie quality strings
With tight little knots
What else can I do with
My celebrated son
But send him to your better world
Filled with food, shelter and toys
I whisper a last goodbye
As I place him on postal scale
Weighing him heavy against
The price of hope
But we both know
He’ll grow cold this Christmas
Under plastic needle trees
With their fake magic dreams
