DOING A POST-MORTEM ON SANTA

No sign
of strangulation,
no cerebral
hemorrhaging,
not a gun shot
or knife wound
on him; no
broken bones,
not even a sprain;
his liver's fucked,
but I expected that
with all those burst
blood vessels in his nose;
he's too fat
to have froze,
and his dick,
though small,
is in working order.

But his face,
his face was so sad,
so serious,
I took another look.
You see his heart?
Enlarged.
Three times
the size.
You see inside?
Regret,
pain,
love,
loneliness.
More than a man
should have
to hold.

A friend told me
that they told him
not to make the trip.
Told me,
that he was never
really a gift giver
to begin with.
That he was in
no kind of shape
to travel.
But few men
listen; women, too,
by the way.

I just hope
the next one,
sick with love,
believes them.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014