WILL THERE REALLY BE A NEW YEAR

WILL THERE REALLY BE A NEW YEAR

Here in late December, I can scarce remember,
What a new year looks like, how it even feels.
An artificial mark on the calendar, scarcely even real.
An apple or a postage stamp falling from the sky,
A smattering of confetti, the strains of auld lang syne.

Unlike Christmas with its pomp and glory,
Thanksgiving with its grateful story.
The New Year is a holiday in search of some good press,
Nothing but a slapdash, grand hilarious mess.

And if I’ve offended some New Year’s revelers,
That was surely not my intent,
But perhaps even they in their strange hats and noisemakers,
Know what I really meant.

Will it really be 2011 or just more of the same?
A depressing, thankless twenty-ten by just another name.
You really have to wonder where we go from here,
After a month of merriment to distract us from our fears.
Will there really be a fresh new start, will there really be a new year?
Or will we be sinking deeper in the quagmire of recession,
The stock market a broke, hilarious joke teetering toward the Great Depression.

Perhaps I’m not the best to say, my 2010 has been a mess,
Illness brings its challenges and its fair share of stress.
But I’m one of the lucky ones, I have my lover and my home
And a few close friends to comfort me when I’m feeling most alone.
My thoughts are with the homeless ones, the truly down and out.
Those I meet who are on the street, alone without a doubt.
Will there really be a new year to ease their endless drought?

Here in late December, I can scarce remember,
What a new year feels like or how it even looks.
2010 has done me in, a New Year for the record books.
Suffice to say I won’t be going out to shake my ass and celebrate
And with any luck I’ll be in bed and fast asleep by eight.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED