You sent me postage due for your Christmas card

in that last Sun Dance, videotaped and sent

 

off to the fashion editor in LA,

 

while I paid $80,000.00 for a new sports car,

hundreds of little ones starved here at home

 

beneath the Statue of the Immaculate Conception

in the harbor of lost dreams and no overtime,

 

sweat shoppes made us rich,

but am I am no better when I could have given

 

the shadows of life, liberty and the pursuit of starvation

 

some deer corn, and a soft drink,

the throw-a-ways from the rich and famous

 

to eat, in exchange for that priceless feeling of

 

helping another human, no religious liberty attached,

doing it, like He did, because it

 

was the right thing to do, and then, my dear Apostle

and drinking buddies,

 

eternity is that feeling that comes us upon when he

are charitable to others, without the gross expectation

 

of any remains in return,

 

I know what it means to have found heaven on earth,

as they packed away me dust and ashes in

 

a shoebox that sits today beyond the leaking asbestos,

next to the Santa Claus dummy and auto-harp

 

it is a good thing to be a kind person

with an ego deflated by a certain nail

 

from his Mount of Olives, at Christmas time.