No Presents for Gnomes

A Christmas poem by James Farnworth

Nathan drove into the parking lot of the suburban mall, surprisingly, there weren’t many cars at all.
It was raining when he rose from his seat, so he grabbed his coat not missing a beat.
The dress jacket smelled of smoke and it really looked like a cloak.
He paused in dismay, if he should wear such a reminder of the unpleasantness and decay.

If his wife were here, she would have said, “I’m not going in with you smelling of old bread.”
Putting the jacket over one arm and then the other, as he was taught by his mother.
He shut the car door, which didn’t seem fit right anymore.
Stopping his progression a family of four came from the store as if there were no recession.

They were filled with celebration, even at the lateness of the occasion.
He forced a smile when they called out, “Merry Christmas,” as he turned about.
Opening trunk, hearing the sound of cracking, oil it was lacking.
Raising the lid he cried as he looked inside he suddenly felt feelings of dread.

There was the red bike, far larger than his son‘s trike.
It was picked out by his wife, to enrich his little boy’s life.
Stored here in the car, it was surly a great hiding place by far.
Lifting the present onto one shoulder for once he felt no older.

Walking into the store, he did not want to be there anymore.
He went straight to the returns sign, stopping at the end of the line.
Nathan did listen to the conversation, of the mother and boy, who interrupted his quiet contemplation.
It was a lean year for them, by the sound of their conversation, there would be no further meditation.

The little boy only wanted something his mother had truly promised.
Soon it was his turn; it was all he did yearn.
He paused before going to the counter. The woman called out, “What is the Matter.”
Suddenly, the box was awfully heavy, so he gave the woman something to carry.

“Feel free to keep it or just returned it,” he found himself smiling as he said it.
He looked down at the boy who was now jumping for joy.
He didn’t wait for a response, not a greeting or thanks, for any lack of innocence.
He was back in the car before taking his next breath, oh where was his Elisabeth.

He laid his head on the wheel, starring into the distress, “Oh where, will I get my next meal.”
He was relieved that he found a home for the bike that was for a boy named Mike.
Halfway home the rain turned to snow with flakes the size of a quarter and sideways it did blow.
Shouting to the heavens, “White Christmas after all, even if you would have me nothing at all.”  

By the time he pulled into his driveway, two inches had covered the roadway.
He moved around the house being quiet as a mouse.
He could hear the snow flakes landing, as they showed signs of accumulating.
As he approached, the front porch, he wished he had some sort of torch.

He looked down at the plaster gnome, who had stood watch over home.
He looked right back with his unmoving eyes that held no lies.
He picked up the little gnome named Gerome.
The front mat was muddy and felt quit soggy.

The boarded door almost denied, but soon he was inside.
The room was dark and dank, it smelled as his coat had stank.
He moved to the couch and that crackled at his touch.
It was a lonely place and he felt such disgrace.

He held the gnome as he did his child that first day they had brought him home.
“I will miss my baby, little my boy,” he whispered with no joy.

  A note from the author. As we celebrate Christmas all cozy in our homes, lets not for get the people that have left their marks in our hearts over the years. Some may have passed and some will be with you to the last. The above story is a fictional story of how it would truly feel to lose everything. I hug my boy and wife each night before we go to bed. Merry Christmas from myself and Family.