“When Black Friday comes / I’m gonna dig myself a hole / Gonna lay down in it ’til / I satisfy my soul”—Steely Dan
With pockets gilded gold you hit the store
to seek the steals and deals which spike
adrenalin—the crazy high; what’s more,
you’re making dreams come true, baby, despite
the parking jams and people squishing in,
frenzied shoppers bent on scoring big.
You’re not aware you sport an evil grin,
nor that you’re not yourself: you’re now a pig.
You squeal each time you see a sale; one eye,
it twitches whilst you flounder through rubbish,
the shelves—the filth!—before you question why.
You dash outside and scream, “My Christmas wish!”
You kneel, see sky, shed tears, bow head and pray:
“The stars proclaim, my God!—the Savior’s Day!