December 7, 2013

White Lie

In the next room,
my wife runs through 
carols, deep chords
easing me 
beyond the edge of sleep, 
the piano just 
out of tune,
each melody pulling 
me back in time, 
to when Santa 
would find cookies 
a suitable bribe,

though by then
I knew no one 
could really 
consume so many, 
the show mostly
for my sister,
my father hesitating
when asked 
if he was real,
telling me 
I was finally old enough 
to learn the score,
no matter what
I'd been told